LIBRARY 

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CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

MRS.   LEO  HERZ 


w 


MY  CHILDHOOD 


"  Aleksyei  Maksimovitch  Pyeshkof  (pseudonym 
Maxim  Gorky).  Born  at  Nijni-Novgorod,  March  14, 
1868.  He  led  a  vagabond  life  for  many  years,  working 
and  tramping  with  the  poorest  classes  in  Russia,  and  his 
writings  record  the  tragedy  of  poverty  and  crime  as  he 
found  it.  Among  the  best  known  of  his  works  are 
'Makar  Chudra'  (1890),  '  Emilian  Pibgai,'  '  Chelkash,' 
'Oshybka'  (1895),  '  Tyenovya  Kartinki '  (1895), 
'Toska,'  'Konovalov'  (1896),  'Malva'  (1896),  '  Foma 
Gordyeev'  (1901),  'Mukiki'  (1901).  Three  volumes 
of  short  stories  (1898—99),  '  Miestchanye '  (1902), 
'Comrades'  (1907),  'The  Spy'  (1908),  'In  the 
Depths,'  a  play,  and  '  Tales  of  Two  Countries  '  (1914)." 
— Century  Cyclopedia  of  Names. 


MAXIM   GORKY 


MY    CHILDHOOD 


BY 

MAXIM  GORKY 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published,  October, 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 
Maxim  Gorky Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


He  Dance  Unweariedly,  Oblivious  of  Everything       .      .     56 
The  Sharing-out  of  the  Family  Goods 120 

When  They  Came  Back  from  Church  They  Drank  Tea 

in  a  Depressed  Manner 315 

"Mother  Sent  Me  to  School  .  .  .  and  from  the  First  I 

Took  a  Dislike  to  It 332 


MY  CHILDHOOD 


MY    CHILDHOOD 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  a  narrow,  darkened  room,  my  father,  dressed  in  a 
white  and  unusually  long  garment,  lay  on  the  floor 
under  the  window.  The  toes  of  his  bare  feet  were  curi- 
ously extended,  and  the  fingers  of  the  still  hands,  which 
rested  peacefully  upon  his  breast,  were  curved;  his 
merry  eyes  were  tightly  closed  by  the  black  disks  of 
two  copper  coins;  the  light  had  gone  out  of  his  still 
face,  and  I  was  frightened  by  the  ugly  way  he  showed 
his  teeth. 

My  mother,  only  half  clad  in  a  red  petticoat,  knelt 
and  combed  my  father's  long,  soft  hair,  from  his  brow 
to  the  nape  of  his  neck,  with  the  same  black  comb  which 
I  loved  to  use  to  tear  the  rind  of  watermelons;  she 
talked  unceasingly  in  her  low,  husky  voice,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  her  swollen  eyes  must  be  washed  away 
by  the  incessant  flow  of  tears. 

Holding  me  by  the  hand  was  my  grandmother,  who 
had  a  big,  round  head,  large  eyes,  and  a  nose  like  a 

3 


4  MY  CHILDHOOD 

sponge — a  dark,  tender,  wonderfully  interesting  person. 
She  also  was  weeping,  and  her  grief  formed  a  fitting 
accompaniment  to  my  mother's,  as,  shuddering  the 
while,  she  pushed  me  towards  my  father;  but  I,  terri- 
fied and  uneasy,  obstinately  tried  to  hide  myself 
against  her.  I  had  never  seen  grown-up  people  cry 
before,  and  I  did  not  understand  the  words  which  my 
grandmother  uttered  again  and  again: 

"Say  good-by  to  daddy.  You  will  never  see  him 
any  more.  He  is  dead — before  his  time." 

I  had  been  very  ill,  had  only  just  left  my  bed  in  fact, 
and  I  remember  perfectly  well  that  at  the  beginning  of 
my  illness  my  father  used  to  merrily  bustle  about  me. 
Then  he  suddenly  disappeared  and  his  place  was  taken 
by  my  grandmother,  a  stranger  to  me. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  I  asked  her. 

"From  up  there,  from  Nijni,"  she  answered;  "but  I 
did  not  walk  here,  I  came  by  boat.  One  does  not  walk 
on  water,  you  little  imp." 

This  was  ludicrous,  incomprehensible,  and  untrue; 
upstairs  there  lived  a  bearded,  gaudy  Persian,  and  in 
the  cellar  an  old,  yellow  Kalmuck  who  sold  sheepskins. 
One  could  get  upstairs  by  riding  on  the  banisters,  or  if 
one  fell  that  way,  one  could  roll.  I  knew  this  by  ex- 
perience. But  where  was  there  room  for  water?  It 
was  all  untrue  and  delightfully  muddled. 

"And  why  am  I  a  little  imp?" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  5 

"Why?  Because  you  are  so  noisy,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

She  spoke  sweetly,  merrily,  melodiously,  and  from 
the  very  first  day  I  made  friends  with  her;  all  I  wanted 
now  was  for  her  to  make  haste  and  take  me  out  of  that 
room. 

My  mother  pressed  me  to  her;  her  tears  and  groans 
created  in  me  a  strange  feeling  of  disquietude.  It  was 
the  first  time  I  had  seen  her  like  this.  She  had  always 
appeared  a  stern  woman  of  few  words ;  neat,  glossy,  and 
strongly  built  like  a  horse,  with  a  body  of  almost  sav- 
age strength,  and  terribly  strong  arms.  But  now  she 
was  swollen  and  palpitating,  and  utterly  desolate. 
Her  hair,  which  was  always  coiled  so  neatly  about  her 
head,  with  her  large,  gaily  trimmed  cap,  was  tumbled 
about  her  bare  shoulders,  fell  over  her  face,  and  part 
of  it  which  remained  plaited,  trailed  across  my 
father's  sleeping  face.  Although  I  had  been  in  the 
room  a  long  time  she  had  not  once  looked  at  me;  she 
could  do  nothing  but  dress  my  father's  hair,  sobbing 
and  choking  with  tears  the  while. 

Presently  some  swarthy  gravediggers  and  a  soldier 
peeped  in  at  the  door. 

The  latter  shouted  angrily: 

"Clear  out  now !     Hurry  up !" 

The  window  was  curtained  by  a  dark  shawl,  which 
the  wind  inflated  like  a  sail.  I  knew  this  because  one 


6  MY  CHILDHOOD 

day  my  father  had  taken  me  out  in  a  sailing-boat,  and 
without  warning  there  had  come  a  peal  of  thunder. 
He  laughed,  and  holding  me  against  his  knees,  cried, 
"It  is  nothing.  Don't  be  frightened,  Luke!" 

Suddenly  my  mother  threw  herself  heavily  on  the 
floor,  but  almost  at  once  turned  over  on  her  back,  drag- 
ging her  hair  in  the  dust;  her  impassive,  white  face 
had  become  livid,  and  showing  her  teeth  like  my  father, 
she  said  in  a  terrible  voice,  "Close  the  door!  .  .  . 
Alexis  ...  go  away!" 

Thrusting  me  on  one  side,  grandmother  rushed  to 
the  door  crying: 

"Friends !  Don't  be  frightened;  don't  interfere,  but 
go  away,  for  the  love  of  Christ.  This  is  not  cholera 
but  childbirth.  ...  I  beg  of  you  to  go,  good  peo- 
ple!" 

I  hid  myself  in  a  dark  corner  behind  a  box,  and 
thence  I  saw  how  my  mother  writhed  upon  the  floor, 
panting  and  gnashing  her  teeth;  and  grandmother, 
kneeling  beside  her,  talked  lovingly  and  hopefully. 

"In  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  .  .  .  ! 
Be  patient,  Varusha!  Holy  Mother  of  God!  .  .  . 
Our  Defense  ...  !" 

I  was  terrified.  They  crept  about  on  the  floor  close 
to  my  father,  touching  him,  groaning  and  shrieking, 
and  he  remained  unmoved  and  actually  smiling.  This 
creeping  about  on  the  floor  lasted  a  long  time;  several 


MY  CHILDHOOD  7 

times  my  mother  stood  up,  only  to  fall  down  again, 
and  grandmother  rolled  in  and  out  of  the  room  like  a 
large,  black,  soft  ball.  All  of  a  sudden  a  child  cried. 

"Thank  God!"  said  grandmother.  "It  is  a  boy!" 
And  she  lighted  a  candle. 

I  must  have  fallen  asleep  in  the  corner,  for  I  remem- 
ber nothing  more. 

The  next  impression  which  my  memory  retains  is  a 
deserted  corner  in  a  cemetery  on  a  rainy  day.  I  am 
standing  by  a  slippery  mound  of  sticky  earth  and 
looking  into  the  pit  wherein  they  have  thrown  the  coffin 
of  my  father.  At  the  bottom  there  is  a  quantity  of 
water,  and  there  are  also  frogs,  two  of  which  have  even 
jumped  on  to  the  yellow  lid  of  the  coffin. 

At  the  graveside  were  myself,  grandmother,  a 
drenched  sexton,  and  two  cross  gravediggers  with 
shovels. 

We  were  all  soaked  with  the  warm  rain  which  fell 
in  fine  drops  like  glass  beads. 

"Fill  in  the  grave,"  commanded  the  sexton,  moving 
away. 

Grandmother  began  to  cry,  covering  her  face  with 
a  corner  of  the  shawl  which  she  wore  for  a  head-cov- 
ering. The  gravediggers,  bending  nearly  double,  be- 
gan to  fling  the  lumps  of  earth  on  the  coffin  rapidly, 
striking  the  frogs,  which  were  leaping  against  the  sides 
of  the  pit,  down  to  the  bottom. 


8  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Come  along,  Lenia,"  said  grandmother,  taking  hold 
of  my  shoulder;  but  having  no  desire  to  depart,  I 
wriggled  out  of  her  hands. 

"What  next,  O  Lord1?"  grumbled  grandmother, 
partly  to  me,  and  partly  to  God,  and  she  remained  for 
some  time  silent,  with  her  head  drooping  dejectedly. 

The  grave  was  filled  in,  yet  still  she  stood  there, 
till  the  gravediggers  threw  their  shovels  to  the  ground 
with  a  resounding  clangor,  and  a  breeze  suddenly 
arose  and  died  away,  scattering  the  raindrops ;  then  she 
took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  to  a  church  some  dis- 
tance away,  by  a  path  which  lay  between  a  number  of 
dark  crosses. 

"Why  don't  you  cry*?"  she  asked,  as  we  came  away 
from  the  burial-ground.  "You  ought  to  cry." 

"I  don't  want  to,"  was  my  reply. 

"Well,  if  you  don't  want  to,  you  need  not,"  she  said 
gently. 

This  greatly  surprised  me,  because  I  seldom  cried, 
and  when  I  did  it  was  more  from  anger  than  sorrow; 
moreover,  my  father  used  to  laugh  at  my  tears,  while 
my  mother  would  exclaim,  "Don't  you  dare  to  cry!" 

After  this  we  rode  in  a  droshky  through  a  broad  but 
squalid  street,  between  rows  of  houses  which  were 
painted  dark  red. 

As  we  went  along,  I  asked  grandmother,  "Will  those 
frogs  ever  be  able  to  get  out*?" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  9 

"Never!"  she  answered.     "God  bless  them!" 
I  reflected  that  my  father  and  my  mother  never 
spoke  so  often  or  so  familiarly  of  God. 

•  ••••••• 

A  few  days  later  my  mother  and  grandmother 
took  me  aboard  a  steamboat,  where  we  had  a  tiny 
cabin. 

My  little  brother  Maxim  was  dead,  and  lay  on  a 
table  in  the  corner,  wrapped  in  white  and  wound  about 
with  red  tape.  Climbing  on  to  the  bundles  and  trunks 
I  looked  out  of  the  porthole,  which  seemed  to  me  ex- 
actly like  the  eye  of  a  horse.  Muddy,  frothy  water 
streamed  unceasingly  down  the  pane.  Once  it 
dashed  against  the  glass  with  such  violence  that  it 
splashed  me,  and  I  involuntarily  jumped  back  to  the 
floor. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  grandmother,  and  lifting 
me  lightly  in  her  kind  arms,  restored  me  to  my  place 
on  the  bundles. 

A  gray,  moist  fog  brooded  over  the  water;  from 
time  to  time  a  shadowy  land  was  visible  in  the  distance, 
only  to  be  obscured  again  by  the  fog  and  the  foam. 
Everything  about  us  seemed  to  vibrate,  except  my 
mother  who,  with  her  hands  folded  behind  her  head, 
leaned  against  the  wall  fixed  and  still,  with  a  face  that 
was  grim  and  hard  as  iron,  and  as  expressionless. 
Standing  thus,  mute,  with  closed  eyes,  she  appeared  to 


10  MY  CHILDHOOD 

me  as  an  absolute  stranger.  Her  very  frock  was  un 
familiar  to  me. 

More  than  once  grandmother  said  to  her  softly 
"Varia,  won't  you  have  something  to  eat*?" 

My  mother  neither  broke  the  silence  nor  stirrec 
from  her  position. 

Grandmother  spoke  to  me  in  whispers,  but  to  rm 
mother  she  spoke  aloud,  and  at  the  same  time  cau 
tiously  and  timidly,  and  very  seldom.  I  thought  sh< 
was  afraid  of  her,  which  was  quite  intelligible,  am 
seemed  to  draw  us  closer  together. 

"Saratov !"  loudly  and  fiercely  exclaimed  my  mothe 
with  startling  suddenness.  "Where  is  the  sailor?" 

Strange,  new  words  to  me!     Saratov?     Sailor? 

A  broad-shouldered,  gray-headed  individual  dressec 
in  blue  now  entered,  carrying  a  small  box  which  grand 
mother  took  from  him,  and  in  which  she  proceeded  t( 
place  the  body  of  my  brother.  Having  done  this  sh< 
bore  the  box  and  its  burden  to  the  door  on  her  out 
stretched  hands;  but,  alas!  being  so  stout  she  coulc 
only  get  through  the  narrow  doorway  of  the  cabir 
sideways,  and  now  halted  before  it  in  ludicrous  uncer 
tainty. 

"Really,  Mama!"  exclaimed  my  mother  impa 
tiently,  taking  the  tiny  coffin  from  her.  Then  the] 
both  disappeared,  while  I  stayed  behind  in  the  cabii 
regarding  the  man  in  blue. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  11 

"Well,  mate,  so  the  little  brother  has  gone*?"  he 
said,  bending  down  to  me. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  a  sailor." 

"And  who  is  Saratov?" 

"Saratov  is  a  town.  Look  out  of  the  window. 
There  it  is!" 

Observed  from  the  window,  the  land  seemed  to 
oscillate;  and  revealing  itself  obscurely  and  in  a  frag- 
mentary fashion,  as  it  lay  steaming  in  the  fog,  it  re- 
minded me  of  a  large  piece  of  bread  just  cut  off  a  hot 
loaf. 

"Where  has  grandmother  gone  to?" 

"To  bury  her  little  grandson." 

"Are  they  going  to  bury  him  in  the  ground?" 

"Yes,  of  course  they  are." 

I  then  told  the  sailor  about  the  live  frogs  that  had 
been  buried  with  my  father. 

He  lifted  me  up,  and  hugging  and  kissing  me,  cried, 
"Oh,  my  poor  little  fellow,  you  don't  understand.  It 
is  not  the  frogs  who  are  to  be  pitied,  but  your  mother. 
Think  how  she  is  bowed  down  by  her  sorrow." 

Then  came  a  resounding  howl  overhead.  Having 
already  learned  that  it  was  the  steamer  which  made 
this  noise,  I  was  not  afraid;  but  the  sailor  hastily  set 
me  down  on  the  floor  and  darted  away,  exclaiming, 
"I  must  run!" 


12  MY  CHILDHOOD 

The  desire  to  escape  seized  me.  I  ventured  out  of 
the  door.  The  dark,  narrow  space  outside  was  empty, 
and  not  far  away  shone  the  brass  on  the  steps  of  the 
staircase.  Glancing  upwards,  I  saw  people  with  wal- 
lets and  bundles  in  their  hands,  evidently  going  off  the 
boat.  This  meant  that  I  must  go  off  too. 

But  when  I  appeared  in  front  of  the  gangway, 
amidst  the  crowd  of  peasants,  they  all  began  to  yell 
at  me. 

"Who  does  he  belong  to*?  Who  do  you  belong 
to?' 

No  one  knew. 

For  a  long  time  they  jostled  and  shook  and  poked 
me  about,  until  the  gray-haired  sailor  appeared  and 
seized  me,  with  the  explanation: 

"It  is  the  Astrakhan  boy  from  the  cabin." 

And  he  ran  off  with  me  to  the  cabin,  deposited  me 
on  the  bundles  and  went  away,  shaking  his  finger  at 
me,  as  he  threatened,  "I  '11  give  you  something!" 

The  noise  overhead  became  less  and  less.  The  boat 
had  ceased  to  vibrate,  or  to  be  agitated  by  the  motion 
of  the  water.  The  window  of  the  cabin  was  shut  in 
by  damp  walls;  within  it  was  dark,  and  the  air  was 
stifling.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  very  bundles  grew 
larger  and  began  to  press  upon  me;  it  was  all  horrible, 
and  I  began  to  wonder  if  I  was  going  to  be  left  alone 
forever  in  that  empty  boat. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  13 

I  went  to  the  door,  but  it  would  not  open ;  the  brass 
handle  refused  to  turn,  so  I  took  a  bottle  of  milk  and 
with  all  my  force  struck  at  it.  The  only  result  was 
that  the  bottle  broke  and  the  milk  spilled  over  my 
legs,  and  trickled  into  my  boots.  Crushed  by  this  fail- 
ure, I  threw  myself  on  the  bundles  crying  softly,  and 
so  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  boat  was  again  in  motion,  and 
the  window  of  the  cabin  shone  like  the  sun. 

Grandmother,  sitting  near  me,  was  combing  her 
hair  and  muttering  something  with  knitted  brow. 
She  had  an  extraordinary  amount  of  hair  which  fell 
over  her  shoulders  and  breast  to  her  knees,  and  even 
touched  the  floor.  It  was  blue-black.  Lifting  it  up 
from  the  floor  with  one  hand  and  holding  it  with  diffi- 
culty, she  introduced  an  almost  toothless  wooden  comb 
into  its  thick  strands.  Her  lips  were  twisted,  her  dark 
eyes  sparkled  fiercely,  while  her  face,  encircled  in  that 
mass  of  hair,  looked  comically  small.  Her  expression 
was  almost  malignant,  but  when  I  asked  her  why  she 
had  such  long  hair  she  answered  in  her  usual  mellow, 
tender  voice: 

"Surely  God  gave  it  to  me  as  a  punishment.  .  .  . 
Even  when  it  is  combed,  just  look  at  it!  .  .  .  When 
I  was  young  I  was  proud  of  my  mane,  but  now  I  am 
old  I  curse  it.  But  you  go  to  sleep.  It  is  quite  early. 
The  sun  has  only  just  risen." 


14  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  sleep  again." 

"Very  well,  then  don't  go  to  sleep,"  she  agreed  at 
once,  plaiting  her  hair  and  glancing  at  the  berth  on 
which  my  mother  lay  rigid,  with  upturned  face. 
"How  did  you  smash  that  bottle  last  evening?  Tell 
me  about  it  quietly." 

So  she  always  talked,  using  such  peculiarly  harmo- 
nious words  that  they  took  root  in  my  memory  like 
fragrant,  bright,  everlasting  flowers.  When  she  smiled 
the  pupils  of  her  dark,  luscious  eyes  dilated  and 
beamed  with  an  inexpressible  charm,  and  her  strong 
white  teeth  gleamed  cheerfully.  Apart  from  her  mul- 
titudinous wrinkles  and  her  swarthy  complexion,  she 
had  a  youthful  and  brilliant  appearance.  What 
spoiled  her  was  her  bulbous  nose,  with  its  distended 
nostrils,  and  red  lips,  caused  by  her  habit  of  taking 
pinches  of  snuff  from  her  black  snuff-box  mounted  with 
silver,  and  by  her  fondness  for  drink.  Everything 
about  her  was  dark,  but  within  she  was  luminous  with 
an  inextinguishable,  joyful  and  ardent  flame,  which 
revealed  itself  in  her  eyes.  Although  she  was  bent, 
almost  humpbacked,  in  fact,  she  moved  lightly  and 
softly,  for  all  the  world  like  a  huge  cat,  and  was  just 
as  gentle  as  that  caressing  animal. 

Until  she  came  into  my  life  I  seemed  to  have  been 
asleep,  and  hidden  away  in  obscurity;  but  when  she 
appeared  she  woke  me  and  led  me  to  the  light  of  day. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  15 

Connecting  all  my  impressions  by  a  single  thread,  she 
wove  them  into  a  pattern  of  many  colors,  thus  making 
herself  my  friend  for  life,  the  being  nearest  my  heart, 
the  dearest  and  best  known  of  all;  while  her  disinter- 
ested love  for  all  creation  enriched  me,  and  built  up 
the  strength  needful  for  a  hard  life. 

Forty  years  ago  boats  traveled  slowly;  we  were 
a  long  time  getting  to  Nijni,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
those  days  almost  overladen  with  beauty. 

Good  weather  had  set  in.  From  morning  till  night 
I  was  on  the  deck  with  grandmother,  under  a  clear  sky, 
gliding  between  the  autumn-gilded  shores  of  the  Volga, 
without  hurry,  lazily;  and,  with  many  resounding 
groans,  as  she  rose  and  fell  on  the  gray-blue  water,  a 
barge  attached  by  a  long  rope  was  being  drawn  along 
by  the  bright  red  steamer.  The  barge  was  gray,  and 
reminded  me  of  a  wood-louse. 

Unperceived,  the  sun  floated  over  the  Volga. 
Every  hour  we  were  in  the  midst  of  fresh  scenes;  the 
green  hills  rose  up  like  rich  folds  on  earth's  sumptuous 
vesture;  on  the  shore  stood  towns  and  villages;  the 
golden  autumn  leaves  floated  on  the  water. 

"Look  how  beautiful  it  all  is!"  grandmother  ex- 
claimed every  minute,  going  from  one  side  of  the  boat 
to  the  other,  with  a  radiant  face,  and  eyes  wide  with 
joy.  Very  often,  gazing  at  the  shore,  she  would  for- 


16  MY  CHILDHOOD 

get  me ;  she  would  stand  on  the  deck,  her  hands  folded 
on  her  breast,  smiling  and  in  silence,  with  her  eyes  full 
of  tears.  I  would  tug  at  her  skirt  of  dark,  sprigged 
linen. 

"Ah!"  she  would  exclaim,  starting.  "I  must  have 
fallen  asleep,  and  begun  to  dream." 

"But  why  are  you  crying?" 

"For  joy  and  for  old  age,  my  dear,"  she  would  reply, 
smiling.  "I  am  getting  old,  you  know — sixty  years 
have  passed  over  my  head." 

And  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  she  would  begin  to  tell 
me  some  wonderful  stories  about  kind-hearted  brig- 
ands, holy  people,  and  all  sorts  of  wild  animals  and 
evil  spirits. 

She  would  tell  me  these  stories  softly,  mysteriously, 
with  her  face  close  to  mine,  fixing  me  with  her  dilated 
eyes,  thus  actually  infusing  into  me  the  strength  which 
was  growing  within  me.  The  longer  she  spoke,  or 
rather  sang,  the  more  melodiously  flowed  her  words. 
It  was  inexpressibly  pleasant  to  listen  to  her. 

I  would  listen  and  beg  for  another,  and  this  is  what 
I  got: 

"In  the  stove  there  lives  an  old  goblin;  once  he  got 
a  splinter  into  his  paw,  and  rocked  to  and  fro  whim- 
pering, 'Oh,  little  mice,  it  hurts  very  much;  oh,  little 
mice,  I  can't  bear  it!'  " 

Raising  her   foot,   she   took   it   in  her  hands   and 


MY  CHILDHOOD      .  17 

wagged  it  from  side  to  side,  wrinkling  up  her  face 
so  funnily,  just  as  if  she  herself  had  been  hurt. 

The  sailors  who  stood  round — bearded,  good-natured 
men — listening  and  laughing,  and  praising  the  stories, 
would  say: 

"Now,  Grandmother,  give  us  another." 

Afterwards  they  would  say: 

"Come  and  have  supper  with  us." 

At  supper  they  regaled  her  with  vodka,  and  me 
with  water-melon;  this  they  did  secretly,  for  there 
went  to  and  fro  on  the  boat  a  man  who  forbade  the 
eating  of  fruit,  and  used  to  take  it  away  and  throw 
it  in  the  river.  He  was  dressed  like  an  official,  and 
was  always  drunk;  people  kept  out  of  his  sight. 

On  rare  occasions  my  mother  came  on  deck,  and 
stood  on  the  side  farthest  from  us.  She  was  always 
silent.  Her  large,  well-formed  body,  her  grim  face, 
her  heavy  crown  of  plaited,  shining  hair — all  about 
her  was  compact  and  solid,  and  she  appeared  to  me  as 
if  she  were  enveloped  in  a  fog  or  a  transparent  cloud, 
out  of  which  she  looked  unamiably  with  her  gray 
eyes,  which  were  as  large  as  grandmother's. 

Once  she  exclaimed  sternly: 

"People  are  laughing  at  you,  Mama!" 

"God  bless  them!"  answered  grandmother,  quite 
unconcerned.  "Let  them  laugh,  and  good  luck  to 
'em." 


i8  MY  CHILDHOOD 

I  remember  the  childish  joy  grandmother  showed  at 
the  sight  of  Nijni.  Taking  my  hand,  she  dragged  me 
to  the  side,  crying: 

"Look!  Look  how  beautiful  it  is!  That's  Nijni, 
that  is !  There 's  something  heavenly  about  it.  Look 
at  the  church  too.  Does  n't  it  seem  to  have  wings'?" 
And  she  turned  to  my  mother,  nearly  weeping.  "Var- 
usha,  look,  won't  you?  Come  here!  You  seem  to 
have  forgotten  all  about  it.  Can't  you  show  a  little 
gladness?" 

My  mother,  with  a  frown,  smiled  bitterly. 

When  the  boat  arrived  outside  the  beautiful  town 
between  two  rivers  blocked  by  vessels,  and  bristling 
with  hundreds  of  slender  masts,  a  large  boat  containing 
many  people  was  drawn  alongside  it.  Catching  the 
boat-hook  in  the  gangway,  one  after  another  the  pas- 
sengers came  on  board.  A  short,  wizened  man,  dressed 
in  black,  with  a  red-gold  beard,  a  bird-like  nose,  and 
green  eyes,  pushed  his  way  in  front  of  the  others. 

"Papa !"  my  mother  cried  in  a  hoarse,  loud  voice,  as 
she  threw  herself  into  his  arms ;  but  he,  taking  her  face 
in  his  little  red  hands  and  hastily  patting  her  cheeks, 
cried : 

"Now,  silly!     What's  the  matter  with  you?  .  .  ." 

Grandmother  embraced  and  kissed  them  all  at  once, 
turning  round  and  round  like  a  peg-top ;  she  pushed  me 
towards  them,  saying  quickly: 


MY  CHILDHOOD  19 

"Now — make  haste!  This  is  Uncle  Michael,  this 
is  Jaakov,  this  is  Aunt  Natalia,  these  are  two  brothers 
both  called  Sascha,  and  their  sister  Katerina.  This 
is  all  our  family.  Is  n't  it  a  large  one*?" 

Grandfather  said  to  her: 

"Are  you  quite  well,  Mother?"  and  they  kissed  each 
other  three  times. 

He  then  drew  me  from  the  dense  mass  of  people,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  my  head,  asked: 

"And  who  may  you  be*?" 

"I  am  the  Astrakhan  boy  from  the  cabin." 

"What  on  earth  is  he  talking  about?"  Grandfather 
turned  to  my  mother,  but  without  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer, shook  me  and  said :  "You  are  a  chip  of  the  old 
block.  Get  into  the  boat." 

Having  landed,  the  crowd  of  people  wended  its  way 
up  the  hill  by  a  road  paved  with  rough  cobblestones 
between  two  steep  slopes  covered  with  trampled 
grass. 

Grandfather  and  mother  went  in  front  of  us  all. 
He  was  a  head  shorter  than  she  was,  and  walked  with 
little  hurried  steps;  while  she,  looking  down  on  him 
from  her  superior  height,  appeared  literally  to  float 
beside  him.  After  them  walked  dark,  sleek-haired 
Uncle  Michael,  wizened  like  grandfather,  bright  and 
curly-headed  Jaakov,  some  fat  women  in  brightly  col- 
ored dresses,  and  six  children,  all  older  than  myself 


20  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  all  very,  quiet.  I  was  with  grandmother  and  little 
Aunt  Natalia.  Pale,  blue-eyed  and  stout,  she  fre- 
quently stood  still,  panting  and  whispering: 

"Oh,  I  can't  go  any  farther!" 

"Why  did  they  trouble  you  to  come?"  grumbled 
grandmother  angrily.  "They  are  a  silly  lot !" 

I  did  not  like  either  the  grown-up  people  nor  the 
children;  I  felt  myself  to  be  a  stranger  in  their  midst 
— even  grandmother  had  somehow  become  estranged 
and  distant. 

Most  of  all  I  disliked  my  uncle;  I  felt  at  once  that 
he  was  my  enemy,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  certain  feel- 
ing of  cautious  curiosity  towards  him. 

We  had  now  arrived  at  the  end  of  our  journey. 

At  the  very  top,  perched  on  the  right  slope,  stood  the 
first  building  in  the  street — a  squat,  one-storied  house, 
decorated  with  dirty  pink  paint,  with  a  narrow  over- 
hanging roof  and  bow-windows.  Looked  at  from  the 
street  it  appeared  to  be  a  large  house,  but  the  interior, 
with  its  gloomy,  tiny  rooms,  was  cramped.  Every- 
where, as  on  the  landing-stage,  angry  people  strove 
together,  and  a  vile  smell  pervaded  the  whole  place. 

I  went  out  into  the  yard.  That  also  was  unpleas- 
ant. It  was  strewn  with  large,  wet  cloths  and  lum- 
bered with  tubs,  all  containing  muddy  water,  of  the 
same  hue,  in  which  other  cloths  lay  soaking.  In  the 
corner  of  a  half-tumbled-down  shed  the  logs  burned 


MY  CHILDHOOD  21 

brightly  in  a  stove,  upon  which  something  was  boiling 
or  baking,  and  an  unseen  person  uttered  these  strange 
words: 

"Santaline,  fuchsin,  vitriol!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THEN  began  and  flowed  on  with  astonishing 
rapidity  an  intense,  varied,  inexpressibly  strange 
life.  It  reminded  me  of  a  crude  story,  well  told  by  a 
good-natured  but  irritatingly  truthful  genius.  Now, 
in  recalling  the  past,  I  myself  find  it  difficult  to  believe, 
at  this  distance  of  time,  that  things  really  were  as  they 
were,  and  I  have  longed  to  dispute  or  reject  the  facts — 
the  cruelty  of  the  drab  existence  of  an  unwelcome  rela- 
tion is  too  painful  to  contemplate.  But  truth  is 
stronger  than  pity,  and  besides,  I  am  writing  not  about 
myself  but  about  that  narrow,  stifling  environment  of 
unpleasant  impressions  in  which  lived — aye,  and  to  this 
day  lives — the  average  Russian  of  this  class. 

My  grandfather's  house  simply  seethed  with  mutual 
hostility;  all  the  grown  people  were  infected  and  even 
the  children  were  inoculated  with  it.  I  had  learned, 
from  overhearing  grandmother's  conversation,  that  my 
mother  arrived  upon  the  very  day  when  her  brothers 
demanded  the  distribution  of  the  property  from  their 
father.  Her  unexpected  return  made  their  desire  for 
this  all  the  keener  and  stronger,  because  they  were 
afraid  that  my  mother  would  claim  the  dowry  intended 

22 


MY  CHILDHOOD  23 

for  her,  but  withheld  by  my  grandfather  because  she 
had  married  secretly  and  against  his  wish.  My  uncles 
considered  that  this  dowry  ought  to  be  divided  amongst 
them  all.  Added  to  this,  they  had  been  quarreling 
violently  for  a  long  time  among  themselves  as  to  who 
should  open  a  workshop  in  the  town,  or  on  the  Oka 
in  the  village  of  Kunavin. 

One  day,  very  shortly  after  our  arrival,  a  quarrel 
broke  out  suddenly  at  dinner-time.  My  uncles  started 
to  their  feet  and,  leaning  across  the  table,  began  to 
shout  and  yell  at  grandfather,  snarling  and  shaking 
themselves  like  dogs;  and  grandfather,  turning  very 
red,  rapped  on  the  table  with  a  spoon  and  cried  in  a 
piercing  tone  of  voice,  like  the  crowing  of  a  cock:  "I 
will  turn  you  out  of  doors !" 

With  her  face  painfully  distorted,  grandmother  said : 
"Give  them  what  they  ask,  Father;  then  you  will  have 
some  peace." 

"Be  quiet,  simpleton !"  shouted  my  grandfather  with 
flashing  eyes;  and  it  was  wonderful,  seeing  how  small 
he  was,  that  he  could  yell  with  such  deafening  effect. 

My  mother  rose  from  the  table,  and  going  calmly  to 
the  window,  turned  her  back  upon  us  all. 

Suddenly  Uncle  Michael  struck  his  brother  on  the 
face  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  The  latter,  with  a 
howl  of  rage,  grappled  with  him;  both  rolled  on  the 
floor  growling,  gasping  for  breath  and  abusing  each 


24  MY  CHILDHOOD 

other.  The  children  began  to  cry,  and  my  Aunt 
Natalia,  who  was  with  child,  screamed  wildly;  my 
mother  seized  her  round  the  body  and  dragged  her 
somewhere  out  of  the  way;  the  lively  little  nursemaid, 
Eugenia,  drove  the  children  out  of  the  kitchen;  chairs 
were  knocked  down;  the  young,  broad-shouldered  fore- 
man, Tsiganok,  sat  on  Uncle  Michael's  back,  while  the 
head  of  the  works,  Gregory  Ivanovitch,  a  bald-headed, 
bearded  man  with  colored  spectacles,  calmly  bound  up 
my  uncle's  hands  with  towels. 

Turning  his  head  and  letting  his  thin,  straggly, 
black  beard  trail  on  the  floor,  Uncle  Michael  cursed 
horribly,  and  grandfather,  running  round  the  table,  ex- 
claimed bitterly:  "And  these  are  brothers!  .  .  . 
Blood  relations!  .  .  .  Shame  on  you!" 

At  the  beginning  of  the  quarrel  I  had  jumped  on  to 
the  stove  in  terror;  and  thence,  with  painful  amaze- 
ment, I  had  watched  grandmother  as  she  washed  Uncle 
Jaakov's  battered  face  in  a  small  basin  of  water,  while 
he  cried  and  stamped  his  feet,  and  she  said  in  a  sad 
voice:  "Wicked  creatures!  You  are  nothing  better 
than  a  family  of  wild  beasts.  When  will  you  come 
to  your  senses'?" 

Grandfather,  dragging  his  torn  shirt  over  his  shoul- 
der, called  out  to  her:  "So  you  have  brought  wild 
animals  into  the  world,  eh,  old  woman?" 

When  Uncle  Jaakov  went  out,  grandmother  retired 


MY  CHILDHOOD  25 

to  a  corner  and,  quivering  with  grief,  prayed :  "Holy 
Mother  of  God,  bring  my  children  to  their  senses." 

Grandfather  stood  beside  her,  and,  glancing  at  the 
table,  on  which  everything  was  upset  or  spilled,  said 
softly : 

"When  you  think  of  them,  Mother,  and  then  of  the 
little  one  they  pester  Varia  about  .  .  .  who  has  the 
best  nature?" 

"Hold  your  tongue,  for  goodness*  sake!  Take  off 
that  shirt  and  I  will  mend  it.  .  .  ."  And  laying  the 
palms  of  her  hands  on  his  head,  grandmother  kissed 
his  forehead;  and  he — so  small  compared  to  her — 
pressing  his  face  against  her  shoulder,  said: 

"We  shall  have  to  give  them  their  shares,  Mother, 
that  is  plain." 

"Yes,  Father,  it  will  have  to  be  done." 

Then  they  talked  for  a  long  time;  amicably  at  first, 
but  it  was  not  long  before  grandfather  began  to  scrape 
his  feet  on  the  floor  like  a  cock  before  a  fight,  and 
holding  up  a  threatening  finger  to  grandmother,  said  in 
a  fierce  whisper : 

"I  know  you !  You  love  them  more  than  me.  .  .  . 
And  what  is  your  Mischka? — a  Jesuit !  And  Jaaschka 
— a  Freemason!  And  they  live  on  me.  .  .  . 
Hangers-on !  That  is  all  they  are." 

Uneasily  turning  on  the  stove,  I  knocked  down  an 
iron,  which  fell  with  a  crash  like  a  thunder-clap. 


26  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Grandfather  jumped  up  on  the  step,  dragged  me 
down,  and  stared  at  me  as  if  he  now  saw  me  for  the 
first  time. 

"Who  put  you  on  the  stove*?     Your  mother*?" 

"I  got  up  there  by  myself." 

"You  are  lying!" 

"No  I  'm  not.  I  did  get  up  there  by  myself.  I  was 
frightened." 

He  pushed  me  away  from  him,  lightly  striking  me 
on  the  head  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"Just  like  your  father !     Get  out  of  my  sight !" 

And  I  was  only  too  glad  to  run  out  of  the  kitchen. 


I  was  very  well  aware  that  grandfather's  shrewd, 
sharp  green  eyes  followed  me  everywhere,  and  I  was 
afraid  of  him.  I  remember  how  I  always  wished  to 
hide  myself  from  that  fierce  glance.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  grandfather  was  malevolent ;  he  spoke  to  every  one 
mockingly  and  offensively,  and,  being  provocative,  did 
his  best  to  put  every  one  else  out  of  temper. 

"Ugh!     Tou!"  he  exclaimed  frequently. 

The  long-drawn-out  sound  "U-gh !"  always  reminds 
me  of  a  sensation  of  misery  and  chill.  In  the  recrea- 
tion hour,  the  time  for  evening  tea,  when  he,  my  uncles 
and  the  workmen  came  into  the  kitchen  from  the  work- 
shop weary,  with  their  hands  stained  with  santaline 


MY  CHILDHOOD  27 

and  burnt  by  sulphuric  acid,  their  hair  bound  with 
linen  bands,  all  looking  like  the  dark-featured  icon  in 
the  corner  of  the  kitchen — in  that  hour  of  dread  my 
grandfather  used  to  sit  opposite  to  me,  arousing  the 
envy  of  the  other  grandchildren  by  speaking  to  me 
oftener  than  to  them.  Everything  about  him  was 
trenchant  and  to  the  point.  His  heavy  satin  waistcoat 
embroidered  with  silk  was  old;  his  much-scrubbed  shirt 
of  colored  cotton  was  crumpled ;  great  patches  flaunted 
themselves  on  the  knees  of  his  trousers;  and  yet  he 
seemed  to  be  dressed  with  more  cleanliness  and  more 
refinement  than  his  sons,  who  wore  false  shirtfronts 
and  silk  neckties. 

Some  days  after  our  arrival  he  set  me  to  learn  the 
prayers.  All  the  other  children  were  older  than  my- 
self, and  were  already  being  taught  to  read  and  write 
by  the  clerk  of  Uspenski  Church.  Timid  Aunt  Natalia 
used  to  teach  me  softly.  She  was  a  woman  with  a 
childlike  countenance,  and  such  transparent  eyes  that 
it  seemed  to  me  that,  looking  into  them,  one  might  see 
what  was  inside  her  head.  I  loved  to  look  into  those 
eyes  of  hers  without  shifting  my  gaze  and  without 
blinking;  they  used  to  twinkle  as  she  turned  her  head 
away  and  said  very  softly,  almost  in  a  whisper: 
"That  will  do.  ...  Now  please  say  'Our  Father, 
which  art  in  Heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  name.  .  .  .' " 
And  if  I  asked,  "What  does  'hallowed  be  Thy  name* 


28  MY  CHILDHOOD 

mean*?"  she  would  glance  round  timidly  and  admonish 
me  thus:  "Don't  ask  questions.  It  is  wrong.  Just 
say  after  me  'Our  Father  .  .  .' ' 

Her  words  troubled  me.  Why  was  it  wrong  to  ask 
questions'?  The  words  "hallowed  be  Thy  name"  ac- 
quired a  mysterious  significance  in  my  mind,  and  I  pur- 
posely mixed  them  up  in  every  possible  way. 

But  my  aunt,  pale  and  almost  exhausted,  patiently 
cleared  her  throat,  which  was  always  husky,  and  said, 
"No,  that  is  not  right.  Just  say  fallowed  be  Thy 
name.'  It  is  plain  enough." 

But  my  aunt,  pale  and  almost  exhausted,  patiently 
irritated  me,  and  hindered  me  from  remembering  the 
prayer. 

One  day  my  grandfather  inquired: 

"Well,  Oleysha,  what  have  you  been  doing  to-day*? ,. 
Playing*?     The  bruises  on  your  forehead  told  me  as 
much.     Bruises  are  got  cheaply.     And  how  about  'Our 
Father3  *?     Have  you  learnt  it4?" 

"He  has  a  very  bad  memory,"  said  my  aunt  softly. 

Grandfather  smiled  as  if  he  were  glad,  lifting  his 
sandy  eyebrows.  "And  what  of  it?  He  must  be 
whipped ;  that 's  all." 

And  again  he  turned  to  me. 

"Did  your  father  ever  whip  you*?" 

As  I  did  not  know  what  he  was  talking  about,  I  was 
silent,  but  my  mother  replied: 


MY  CHILDHOOD  29 

"No,  Maxim  never  beat  him,  and  what  is  more,  for- 
bade me  to  do  so." 

"And  why,  may  I  ask?" 

"He  said  that  beating  is  not  education." 

"He  was  a  fool  about  everything — that  Maxim. 
May  God  forgive  me  for  speaking  so  of  the  dead!" 
exclaimed  grandfather  distinctly  and  angrily.  He 
saw  at  once  that  these  words  enraged  me.  "What  is 
that  sullen  face  for?'  he  asked.  "Ugh!  .  .  .  Ton! 
.  .  ."  And  smoothing  down  his  reddish,  silver- 
streaked  hair,  he  added:'  "And  this  very  Saturday  I 
am  going  to  give  Sascha  a  hiding." 

"What  is  a  hiding?"  I  asked. 

They  all  laughed,  and  grandfather  said:  "Wait  a 
bit,  and  you  shall  see." 

In  secret  I  pondered  over  the  word  "hiding."  Ap- 
parently it  had  the  same  meaning  as  to  whip  and  beat. 
I  had  seen  people  beat  horses,  dogs  and  cats,  and  in 
Astrakhan  the  soldiers  used  to  beat  the  Persians;  but 
I  had  never  before  seen  any  one  beat  little  children. 
Yet  here  my  uncles  hit  their  own  children  over  the 
head  and  shoulders,  and  they  bore  it  without  resent- 
ment, merely  rubbing  the  injured  part;  and  if  I  asked 
them  whether  they  were  hurt,  they  always  answered 
bravely : 

"No,  not  a  bit." 

Then  there  was  the  famous  story  of  the  thimble. 


30  MY  CHILDHOOD 

In  the  evenings,  from  tea-time  to  supper-time,  my 
uncles  and  the  head  workman  used  to  sew  portions  of 
dyed  material  into  one  piece,  to  which  they  affixed 
tickets.  Wishing  to  play  a  trick  on  half-blind  Greg- 
ory, Uncle  Michael  had  told  his  nine-year-old  nephew 
to  make  his  thimble  red-hot  in  the  candle-flame. 
Sascha  heated  the  thimble  in  the  snuffers,  made  it  abso- 
lutely red-hot,  and  contriving,  without  attracting  at- 
tention, to  place  it  close  to  Gregory's  hand,  hid  himself 
by  the  stove;  but  as  luck  would  have  it,  grandfather 
himself  came  in  at  that  very  moment  and,  sitting  down 
to  work,  slipped  his  finger  into  the  red-hot  thimble. 

Hearing  the  tumult,  I  ran  into  the  kitchen,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  how  funny  grandfather  looked  nurs- 
ing his  burnt  finger  as  he  jumped  about  and  shrieked: 

"Where  is  the  villain  who  played  this  trick*?" 

Uncle  Michael,  doubled  up  under  the  table,  snatched 
up  the  thimble  and  blew  upon  it;  Gregory  uncon- 
cernedly went  on  sewing,  while  the  shadows  played  on 
his  enormous  bald  patch.  Then  Uncle  Jaakov  rushed 
in,  and,  hiding  himself  in  the  corner  by  the  stove,  stood 
there  quietly  laughing;  grandmother  busied  herself 
with  grating  up  raw  potatoes. 

"Sascha  Jaakov  did  it!"  suddenly  exclaimed  Uncle 
Michael. 

"Liar!"  cried  Jaakov,  darting  out  from  behind  the 
stove. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  31 

But  his  son,  from  one  of  the  corners,  wept  and 
wailed : 

"Papa!  don't  believe  him.  He  showed  me  how 
to  do  it  himself." 

My  uncles  began  to  abuse  each  other,  but  grand- 
father all  at  once  grew  calm,  put  a  poultice  of  grated 
potatoes  on  his  finger,  and  silently  went  out,  taking  me 
with  him. 

They  all  said  that  Uncle  Michael  was  to  blame.  I 
asked  naturally  if  he  would  be  whipped,  or  get  a  hid- 
ing. 

"He  ought  to,"  answered  grandfather,  with  a  side- 
long glance  at  me. 

Uncle  Michael,  striking  his  hand  upon  the  table, 
bawled  at  my  mother :  "Varvara,  make  your  pup  hold 
his  jaw  before  I  knock  his  head  off." 

"Go  on,  then;  try  to  lay  your  hands  on  him!"  re- 
plied my  mother.  And  no  one  said  another  word. 

She  had  a  gift  of  pushing  people  out  of  her  way, 
brushing  them  aside  as  it  were,  and  making  them  feel 
very  small  by  a  few  brief  words  like  these.  It  was 
perfectly  clear  to  me  that  they  were  all  afraid  of  her; 
even  grandfather  spoke  to  her  more  quietly  than  he 
spoke  to  the  others.  It  gave  me  great  satisfaction  to 
observe  this,  and  in  my  pride  I  used  to  say  openly  to 
my  cousins :  "My  mother  is  a  match  for  all  of  them." 
And  they  did  not  deny  it. 


32  MY  CHILDHOOD 

But  the  events  which  happened  on  Saturday  dimin- 
ished my  respect  for  my  mother. 

By  Saturday  I  also  had  had  time  to  get  into  trouble. 
I  was  fascinated  by  the  ease  with  which  the  grown-up 
people  changed  the  color  of  different  materials;  they 
took  something  yellow,  steeped  it  in  black  dye,  and  it 
came  out  dark  blue.  They  laid  a  piece  of  gray  stuff  in 
reddish  water  and  it  was  dyed  mauve.  It  was  quite 
simple,  yet  to  me  it  was  inexplicable.  I  longed  to  dye 
something  myself,  and  I  confided  my  desire  to  Sascha 
Yaakovitch,  a  thoughtful  boy,  always  in  favor  with 
his  elders,  always  good-natured,  obliging,  and  ready  to 
wait  upon  every  one. 

The  adults  praised  him  highly  for  his  obedience  and 
his  cleverness,  but  grandfather  looked  on  him  with  no 
favorable  eye,  and  used  to  say: 

"An  artful  beggar  that!" 

Thin  and  dark,  with  prominent,  watchful  eyes, 
Sascha  Yaakov  used  to  speak  in  a  low,  rapid  voice,  as 
if  his  words  were  choking  him,  and  all  the  while  he 
talked  he  glanced  fearfully  from  side  to  side  as  if  he 
were  ready  to  run  away  and  hide  himself  on  the  slight- 
est pretext.  The  pupils  of  his  hazel  eyes  were  sta- 
tionary except  when  he  was  excited,  and  then  they  be- 
came merged  into  the  whites.  I  did  not  like  him.  I 
much  preferred  the  despised  idler,  Sascha  Michail- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  33 

ovitch.  He  was  a  quiet  boy,  with  sad  eyes  and  a  pleas- 
ing smile,  very  like  his  kind  mother.  He  had  ugly, 
protruding  teeth,  with  a  double  row  in  the  upper  jaw; 
and  being  very  greatly  concerned  about  this  defect,  he 
constantly  had  his  fingers  in  his  mouth,  trying  to  loosen 
his  back  ones,  very  amiably  allowing  any  one  who 
chose  to  inspect  them.  But  that  was  the  only  inter- 
esting thing  about  him.  He  lived  a  solitary  life  in  a 
house  swarming  with  people,  loving  to  sit  in  the  dim 
corners  in  the  daytime,  and  at  the  window  in  the  eve- 
ning; quite  happy  if  he  could  remain  without  speak- 
ing, with  his  face  pressed  against  the  pane  for  hours 
together,  gazing  at  the  flock  of  jackdaws  which,  now 
rising  high  above  it,  now  sinking  swiftly  earthwards,  in 
the  red  evening  sky,  circled  round  the  dome  of  Uspen- 
ski  Church,  and  finally,  obscured  by  an  opaque  black 
cloud,  disappeared  somewhere,  leaving  a  void  behind 
them.  When  he  had  seen  this  he  had  no  desire  to  speak 
of  it,  but  a  pleasant  languor  took  possession  of  him. 

Uncle  Jaakov's  Sascha,  on  the  contrary,  could  talk 
about  everything  fluently  and  with  authority,  like  a 
grown-up  person.  Hearing  of  my  desire  to  learn  the 
process  of  dyeing,  he  advised  me  to  take  one  of  the  best 
white  tablecloths  from  the  cupboard  and  dye  it  blue. 

"White  always  takes  the  color  better,  I  know,"  he 
said  very  seriously. 

I  dragged  out  a  heavy  tablecloth  and  ran  with  it  to 


34  MY  CHILDHOOD 

the  yard,  but  I  had  no  more  than  lowered  the  hem  of 
it  into  the  vat  of  dark-blue  dye  when  Tsiganok  flew  at 
me  from  somewhere,  rescued  the  cloth,  and  wringing  it 
out  with  his  rough  hands,  cried  to  my  cousin,  who  had 
been  looking  on  at  my  work  from  a  safe  place: 

"Call  your  grandmother  quickly." 

And  shaking  his  black,  dishevelled  head  ominously, 
he  said  to  me: 

"You  '11  catch  it  for  this." 

Grandmother  came  running  on  to  the  scene,  wailing, 
and  even  weeping,  at  the  sight,  and  scolded  me  in  her 
ludicrous  fashion: 

"Oh,  you  young  pickle !  I  hope  you  will  be  spanked 
for  this." 

Afterwards,  however,  she  said  to  Tsiganok:  "You 
need  n't  say  anything  about  this  to  grandfather,  Vanka. 
I  '11  manage  to  keep  it  from  him.  Let  us  hope  that 
something  will  happen  to  take  up  his  attention." 

Vanka  replied  in  a  preoccupied  manner,  drying  his 
hands  on  his  multi-colored  apron : 

"Me*?  I  shan't  tell:  but  you  had  better  see  that 
that  Sascha  does  n't  go  and  tell  tales." 

"I  will  give  him  something  to  keep  him  quiet,"  said 
grandmother,  leading  me  into  the  house. 

On  Saturday,  before  vespers,  I  was  called  into  the 
kitchen,  where  it  was  all  dark  and  still.  I  remember 
the  closely  shut  doors  of  the  shed  and  of  the  room, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  35 

and  the  gray  mist  of  an  autumn  evening,  and  the 
heavy  patter  of  rain.  Sitting  in  front  of  the  stove  on 
a  narrow  bench,  looking  cross  and  quite  unlike  him- 
self, was  Tsiganok;  grandfather,  standing  in  the  chim- 
ney corner,  was  taking  long  rods  out  of  a  pail  of  water, 
measuring  them,  putting  them  together,  and  flourish- 
ing them  in  the  air  with  a  shrill  whistling  sound. 
Grandmother,  somewhere  in  the  shadows,  was  taking 
snuff  noisily  and  muttering: 

"Now  you  are  in  your  element,  tyrant!" 

Sascha  Jaakov  was  sitting  in  a  chair  in  the  middle  of 
the  kitchen,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  knuckles,  and 
whining  like  an  old  beggar  in  a  voice  quite  unlike  his 
usual  voice: 

"Forgive  me,  for  Christ's  sake.  .  .  . !" 

Standing  by  the  chair,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  like 
wooden  figures,  stood  the  children  of  Uncle  Michael, 
brother  and  sister. 

"When  I  have  flogged  you  I  will  forgive  you,"  said 
grandfather,  drawing  a  long,  damp  rod  across  his 
knuckles. 

"Now  then  .  .  .  take  down  your  breeches !" 

He  spoke  very  calmly,  and  neither  the  sound  of  his 
voice  nor  the  noise  made  by  the  boy  as  he  moved  on 
the  squeaky  chair,  nor  the  scraping  of  grandmother's 
feet,  broke  the  memorable  stillness  of  that  almost  dark 
kitchen,  under  the  low,  blackened  ceiling. 


36  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Sascha  stood  up,  undid  his  trousers,  letting  them 
down  as  far  as  his  knees,  then  bending  and  holding 
them  up  with  his  hands,  he  stumbled  to  the  bench.  It 
was  painful  to  look  at  him,  and  my  legs  also  began  to 
tremble. 

But  worse  was  to  come,  when  he  submissively  lay 
down  on  the  bench  face  downwards,  and  Vanka,  tying 
him  to  it  by  means  of  a  wide  towel  placed  under  his 
arms  and  round  his  neck,  bent  under  him  and  with 
black  hands  seized  his  legs  by  the  ankles. 

"Lexei!"  called  grandfather.  "Come  nearer! 
Come!  Don't  you  hear  me  speaking  to  you*?  Look 
and  see  what  a  flogging  is.  ...  One !" 

With  a  mild  flourish  he  brought  the  rod  down  on  the 
naked  flesh,  and  Sascha  set  up  a  howl. 

"Rubbish!"  said  grandfather.  "That's  nothing! 
.  .  .  But  here 's  something  to  make  you  smart." 

And  he  dealt  such  blows  that  the  flesh  was  soon  in 
a  state  of  inflammation  and  covered  with  great  red 
weals,  and  my  cousin  gave  a  prolonged  howl. 

"Is  n't  it  nice?"  asked  grandfather,  as  his  hand  rose 
and  fell.  "You  don't  like  it?  ...  That's  for  the 
thimble!" 

When  he  raised  his  hand  with  a  flourish  my  heart 
seemed  to  rise  too,  and  when  he  let  his  hand  fall  some- 
thing within  me  seemed  to  sink. 

"I  won't  do  it  again,"  squealed  Sascha,  in  a  dread- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  37 

fully  thin,  weak  voice,  unpleasant  to  hear.  "Did  n't 
I  tell — didn't  I  tell  about  the  tablecloth*?" 

Grandfather  answered  calmly,  as  if  he  were  reading 
the  "Psalter" : 

"Tale-bearing  is  no  justification.  The  informer 
gets  whipped  first,  so  take  that  for  the  tablecloth." 

Grandmother  threw  herself  upon  me  and  seized  my 
hand,  crying:  "I  won't  allow  Lexei  to  be  touched! 
I  won't  allow  it,  you  monster!"  And  she  began  to 
kick  the  door,  calling:  "Varia!  Varvara!" 

Grandfather  darted  across  to  her,  threw  her  down, 
seized  me  and  carried  me  to  the  bench.  I  struck  at 
him  with  my  fists,  pulled  his  sandy  beard,  and  bit  his 
fingers.  He  bellowed  and  held  me  as  in  a  vice.  In 
the  end,  throwing  me  down  on  the  bench,  he  struck  me 
on  the  face. 

I  shall  never  forget  his  savage  cry:  "Tie  him  up! 
I  'm  going  to  kill  him !"  nor  my  mother's  white  face  and 
great  eyes  as  she  ran  along  up  and  down  beside  the 
bench,  shrieking: 

"Father !     You  must  n't !     Let  me  have  him !" 


Grandfather  flogged  me  till  I  lost  consciousness,  and 
I  was  unwell  for  some  days,  tossing  about,  face  down- 
wards, on  a  wide,  stuffy  bed,  in  a  little  room  with  one 
window  and  a  lamp  which  was  always  kept  burning 


38  MY  CHILDHOOD 

before  the  case  of  icons  in  the  corner.  Those  dark 
days  had  been  the  greatest  in  my  life.  In  the  course 
of  them  I  had  developed  wonderfully,  and  I  was  con- 
scious of  a  peculiar  difference  in  myself.  I  began  to 
experience  a  new  solicitude  for  others,  and  I  became  so 
keenly  alive  to  their  sufferings  and  my  own  that  it  was 
almost  as  if  my  heart  had  been  lacerated,  and  thus 
rendered  sensitive. 

For  this  reason  the  quarrel  between  my  mother  and 
grandmother  came  as  a  great  shock  to  me — when  grand- 
mother, looking  so  dark  and  big  in  the  narrow  room, 
flew  into  a  rage,  and  pushing  my  mother  into  the  corner 
where  the  icons  were,  hissed : 

"Why  did  n't  you  take  him  away?" 

"I  was  afraid." 

"A  strong,  healthy  creature  like  you!  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Varvara!  I  am  an  old 
woman  and  I  am  not  afraid.  For  shame !" 

"Do  leave  off,  Mother;  I  am  sick  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness." 

"No,  you  don't  love  him!  You  have  no  pity  for 
the  poor  orphan!" 

"I  have  been  an  orphan  all  my  life,"  said  my  mother, 
speaking  loudly  and  sadly. 

After  that  they  both  cried  for  a  long  time,  seated 
on  a  box  in  a  corner,  and  then  my  mother  said : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  39 

"If  it  were  not  for  Alexei,  I  would  leave  this  place 
— and  go  right  away.  I  can't  go  on  living  in  this  hell, 
Mother,  I  can't!  I  haven't  the  strength." 

"Oh !  My  own  flesh  and  blood !"  whispered  grand- 
mother. 

I  kept  all  this  in  my  mind.  Mother  was  weak,  and, 
like  the  others,  she  was  afraid  of  grandfather,  and  I 
was  preventing  her  from  leaving  the  house  in  which 
she  found  it  impossible  to  live.  It  was  very  unfor- 
tunate. Before  long  my  mother  really  did  disappear 
from  the  house,  going  somewhere  on  a  visit. 

Very  soon  after  this,  as  suddenly  as  if  he  had  fallen 
from  the  ceiling,  grandfather  appeared,  and  sitting  on 
the  bed,  laid  his  ice-cold  hands  on  my  head. 

"How  do  you  do,  young  gentleman?  Come!  an- 
swer me.  Don't  sulk!  Well"?  What  have  you  to 
say?" 

I  had  a  great  mind  to  kick  away  his  legs,  but  it  hurt 
me  to  move.  His  head,  sandier  than  ever,  shook  from 
side  to  side  uneasily ;  his  bright  eyes  seemed  to  be  look- 
ing for  something  on  the  wall  as  he  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket  a  gingerbread  goat,  a  horn  made  of  sugar,  an 
apple  and  a  cluster  of  purple  raisins,  which  he  placed 
on  the  pillow  under  my  very  nose. 

"There  you  are !     There  's  a  present  for  you." 

And  he  stooped  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 


40  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Then,  stroking  my  head  with  those  small,  cruel  hands, 
yellow-stained  about  the  crooked,  claw-like  nails,  he 
began  to  speak. 

"I  left  my  mark  on  you  then,  my  friend.  You  were 
very  angry.  You  bit  me  and  scratched  me,  and  then 
I  lost  my  temper  too.  However,  it  will  do  you  no 
harm  to  have  been  punished  more  severely  than  you  de- 
served. It  will  go  towards  next  time.  You  must 
learn  not  to  mind  when  people  of  your  own  family  beat 
you.  It  is  part  of  your  training.  It  would  be  differ- 
ent if  it  came  from  an  outsider,  but  from  one  of  us  it 
does  not  count.  You  must  not  allow  outsiders  to  lay 
hands  on  you,  but  it  is  nothing  coming  from  one  of  your 
own  family.  I  suppose  you  think  I  was  never  flogged? 
Oleysha!  I  was  flogged  harder  than  you  could  ever 
imagine  even  in  a  bad  dream.  I  was  flogged  so  cruelly 
that  God  Himself  might  have  shed  tears  to  see  it. 
And  what  was  the  result?  I — an  orphan,  the  son  of  a 
poor  mother — have  risen  in  my  present  position — the 
head  of  a  guild,  and  a  master  workman." 

Bending  his  withered,  well-knit  body  towards  me, 
he  began  to  tell  me  in  vigorous  and  powerful  language, 
with  a  felicitous  choice  of  words,  about  the  days  of  his 
childhood.  His  green  eyes  were  very  bright,  and  his 
golden  hair  stood  rakishly  on  end  as,  deflecting  his 
high-pitched  voice,  he  breathed  in  my  face. 

"You  traveled  here  by  steamboat  .  .  .  steam  will 


MY  CHILDHOOD  41 

take  you  anywhere  now;  but  when  I  was  young  I  had 
to  tow  a  barge  up  the  Volga  all  by  myself.  The  barge 
was  in  the  water  and  I  ran  barefoot  on  the  bank,  which 
was  strewn  with  sharp  stones.  .  .  .  Thus  I  went  from 
early  in  the  morning  to  sunset,  with  the  sun  beating 
fiercely  on  the  back  of  my  neck,  and  my  head  throbbing 
as  if  it  were  full  of  molten  iron.  And  sometimes  I 
was  overcome  by  three  kinds  of  ill-luck  .  .  .  my  poor 
little  bones  ached,  but  I  had  to  keep  on,  and  I  could 
not  see  the  way;  and  then  my  eyes  brimmed  over,  and 
I  sobbed  my  heart  out  as  the  tears  rolled  down.  Ah ! 
Oleysha !  it  won't  bear  talking  about. 

"I  went  on  and  on  till  the  towing-rope  slipped  from 
me  and  I  fell  down  on  my  face,  and  I  was  not  sorry  for 
it  either!  I  rose  up  all  the  stronger.  If  I  had  not 
rested  a  minute  I  should  have  died. 

"That  is  the  way  we  used  to  live  then  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  of  our  Blessed  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  This  is 
the  way  I  took  the  measure  of  Mother  Volga  three 
times,  from  Simbirsk  to  Ribinsk,  from  there  to  Sara- 
tov, as  far  as  Astrakhan  and  Markarev,  to  the  Fair — 
more  than  three  thousand  versts.  And  by  the  fourth 
year  I  had  become  a  free  water-man.  I  had  shown  my 
master  what  I  was  made  of." 

As  he  spoke  he  seemed  to  increase  in  size  like  a 
cloud  before  my  very  eyes,  being  transformed  from  a 
small,  wizened  old  man  to  an  individual  of  fabulous 


42  MY  CHILDHOOD 

strength.  Had  he  not  pulled  a  great  gray  barge  up  the 
river  all  by  himself?  Now  and  again  he  jumped  up 
from  the  bed  and  showed  me  how  the  barges  traveled 
with  the  towing-rope  round  them,  and  how  they 
pumped  water,  singing  fragments  of  a  song  in  a  bass 
voice;  then,  youthfully  springing  back  on  the  bed,  to 
my  ever-increasing  astonishment,  he  would  continue 
hoarsely  and  impressively. 

"Well,  sometimes,  Oleysha,  on  a  summer's  evening 
when  we  arrived  at  Jigulak,  or  some  such  place  at  the 
foot  of  the  green  hills,  we  used  to  sit  about  lazily  cook- 
ing our  supper  while  the  boatmen  of  the  hill-country 
used  to  sing  sentimental  songs,  and  as  soon  as  they  be- 
gan the  whole  crew  would  strike  up,  sending  a  thrill 
through  one,  and  making  the  Volga  seem  as  if  it  were 
running  very  fast  like  a  horse,  and  rising  up  as  high 
as  the  clouds;  and  all  kinds  of  trouble  seemed  as  noth- 
ing more  than  dust  blown  about  by  the  wind.  They 
sang  till  the  porridge  boiled  over,  for  which  the  cook 
had  to  be  flicked  with  a  cloth.  'Play  as  much  as  you 
please,  but  don't  forget  your  work,'  we  said." 

Several  times  people  put  their  heads  in  at  the  door 
to  call  him,  but  each  time  I  begged  him  not  to  go. 

And  he  laughingly  waved  them  away,  saying,  "Wait 
a  bit." 

He  stayed  with  me  and  told  me  stories  until  it  was 
almost  dark,  and  when,  after  an  affectionate  farewell, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  43 

he  left  me,  I  had  learned  that  he  was  neither  malevo- 
lent nor  formidable.  It  brought  the  tears  into  my 
eyes  to  remember  that  it  was  he  who  had  so  cruelly 
beaten  me,  but  I  could  not  forget  it. 

This  visit  of  my  grandfather  opened  the  door  to 
others,  and  from  morning  till  night  there  was  always 
somebody  sitting  on  my  bed,  trying  to  amuse  me;  I 
remember  that  this  was  not  always  either  cheering  or 
pleasant. 

Oftener  than  any  of  them  came  my  grandmother, 
who  slept  in  the  same  bed  with  me.  But  it  was  Tsig- 
anok  who  left  the  clearest  impression  on  me  in  those 
days.  He  used  to  appear  in  the  evenings — square- 
built,  broad-chested,  curly  headed,  dressed  in  his  best 
clothes — a  gold-embroidered  shirt,  plush  breeches, 
boots  squeaking  like  a  harmonium.  His  hair  was 
glossy,  his  squinting,  merry  eyes  gleamed  under  his 
thick  eyebrows,  and  his  white  teeth  under  the  shadow 
of  his  young  mustache ;  his  shirt  glowed  softly  as  if  re- 
flecting the  red  light  of  the  image-lamp. 

"Look  here !"  he  said,  turning  up  his  sleeve  and  dis- 
playing his  bare  arm  to  the  elbow.  It  was  covered 
with  red  scars.  "Look  how  swollen  it  is;  and  it  was 
worse  yesterday — it  was  very  painful.  When  your 
grandfather  flew  into  a  rage  and  I  saw  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  flog  you,  I  put  my  arm  in  the  way,  thinking 
that  the  rod  would  break,  and  then  while  he  was  look- 


44  MY  CHILDHOOD 

ing  for  another  your  grandmother  or  your  mother  could 
take  you  away  and  hide  you.  I  am  an  old  bird  at 
the  game,  my  child." 

He  laughed  gently  and  kindly,  and  glancing  again 
at  the  swollen  arm,  went  on : 

"I  was  so  sorry  for  you  that  I  thought  I  should 
choke.  It  seemed  such  a  shame!  .  .  .  But  he  lashed 
away  at  you!" 

Snorting  and  tossing  his  head  like  a  horse,  he  went 
on  speaking  about  the  affair.  This  childish  simplicity 
seemed  to  draw  him  closer  to  me.  I  told  him  that  I 
loved  him  very  much,  and  he  answered  with  a  sim- 
plicity which  always  lives  in  my  memory. 

"And  I  love  you  too !  That  is  why  I  let  myself  be 
hurt — because  I  love  you.  Do  you  think  I  would  have 
done  it  for  any  one  else"?  I  should  be  making  a  fool 
of  myself." 

Later  on  he  gave  me  whispered  instructions,  glancing 
frequently  at  the  door.  "Next  time  he  beats  you  don't 
try  to  get  away  from  him,  and  don't  struggle.  It 
hurts  twice  as  much  if  you  resist.  If  you  let  yourself 
go  he  will  deal  lightly  with  you.  Be  limp  and  soft, 
and  don't  scowl  at  him.  Try  and  remember  this;  it  is 
good  advice." 

"Surely  he  won't  whip  me  again !"  I  exclaimed. 

"Why,  of  course!"  replied  Tsiganok  calmly.  "Of 
course  he  will  whip  you  again,  and  often  too!" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  45 

"But  why?" 

"Because  grandfather  is  on  the  watch  for  you." 
And  again  he  cautiously  advised  me:  "When  he 
whips  you  he  brings  the  rod  straight  down.  Well,  if 
you  lie  there  quietly  he  may  possibly  hold  the  rod 
lower  so  that  it  won't  break  your  skin.  .  .  .  Now, 
do  you  understand1?  Move  your  body  towards  him 
and  the  rod,  and  it  will  be  all  the  better  for  you." 

Winking  at  me  with  his  dark,  squinting  eyes,  he 
added:  "I  know  more  about  such  matters  than  a 
policeman  even.  I  have  been  beaten  on  my  bare  shoul- 
ders till  the  skin  came  off,  my  boy !" 

I  looked  at  his  bright  face  and  remembered  grand- 
mother's story  of  Ivan-Czarevitch  and  Ivanoshka-dour- 
achka. 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEN  I  was  well  again  I  realized  that  Tsiganok 
occupied  an  important  position  in  the  house- 
hold. Grandfather  did  not  storm  at  him  as  he  did  at 
his  sons,  and  would  say  behind  his  back,  half -closing 
his  eyes  and  nodding  his  head : 

"He  is  a  good  workman — Tsiganok.  Mark  my 
words,  he  will  get  on;  he  will  make  his  fortune." 

My  uncles  too  were  polite  and  friendly  with  Tsig- 
anok, and  never  played  practical  jokes  on  him  as  they 
did  on  the  head  workman,  Gregory,  who  was  the  ob- 
ject of  some  insulting  and  spiteful  trick  almost  every 
evening.  Sometimes  they  made  the  handles  of  his 
scissors  red-hot,  or  put  a  nail  with  the  point  upwards 
on  the  seat  of  his  chair,  or  placed  ready  to  his  hand 
pieces  of  material  all  of  the  same  color,  so  that  when 
he,  being  half  blind,  had  sewed  them  all  into  one  piece, 
grandfather  should  scold  him  for  it. 

One  day  when  he  had  fallen  asleep  after  dinner  in 
the  kitchen,  they  painted  his  face  with  fuchsin,  and  he 
had  to  go  about  for  a  long  time  a  ludicrous  and  terrify- 
ing spectacle,  with  two  round,  smeared  eyeglasses  look- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  47 

ing  out  dully  from  his  gray  beard,  and  his  long,  livid 
nose  drooping  dejectedly,  like  a  tongue. 

They  had  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  such  pranks,  but 
the  head  workman  bore  it  all  in  silence,  only  quackling 
softly,  and  taking  care  before  he  touched  either  the 
iron,  the  scissors,  the  needlework  or  the  thimble,  to 
moisten  his  fingers  copiously  with  saliva.  This  became 
a  habit  with  him,  and  even  at  dinner-time  before  he 
took  up  his  knife  and  fork  he  slobbered  over  his  fin- 
gers, causing  great  amusement  to  the  children.  When 
he  was  hurt,  his  large  face  broke  into  waves  of  wrinkles, 
which  curiously  glided  over  his  forehead,  and,  raising 
his  eyebrows,  vanished  mysteriously  on  his  bald 
cranium. 

I  do  not  remember  how  grandfather  bore  himself 
with  regard  to  his  sons'  amusements,  but  grandmother 
used  to  shake  her  fist  at  them,  crying : 

"Shameless,  ill-natured  creatures!" 

But  my  uncles  spoke  evil  of  Tsiganok  too  behind  his 
back;  they  made  fun  of  him,  found  fault  with  his 
work,  and  called  him  a  thief  and  an  idler. 

I  asked  grandmother  why  they  did  this.  She  ex- 
plained it  to  me  without  hesitation,  and,  as  always, 
made  the  matter  quite  clear  to  me.  "You  see,  each 
wants  to  take  Vaniushka  with  him  when  he  sets  up  in 
business  for  himself;  that  is  why  they  run  him  down 
to  each  other.  Say  they,  'He  's  a  bad  workman' ;  but 


48  MY  CHILDHOOD 

they  don't  mean  it.  It  is  their  artfulness.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  they  are  afraid  that  Vaniushka  will  not  go 
with  either  of  them,  but  will  stay  with  grandfather, 
who  always  gets  his  own  way,  and  might  set  up  a 
third  workshop  with  Ivanka,  which  would  do  your 
uncles  no  good.  Now  do  you  understand*?"  She 
laughed  softly.  "They  are  crafty  about  everything, 
setting  God  at  naught;  and  grandfather,  seeing  their 
artfulness,  teases  them  by  saying:  'I  shall  buy  Ivan 
a  certificate  of  exemption  so  that  they  won't  take  him 
for  a  soldier.  I  can't  do  without  him.'  This  makes 
them  angry;  it  is  just  what  they  don't  want;  besides, 
they  grudge  the  money.  Exemptions  cost  money." 

I  was  living  with  grandmother  again,  as  I  had  done 
on  the  steamer,  and  every  evening  before  I  fell  asleep 
she  used  to  tell  me  fairy  stories,  or  tales  about  her  life, 
which  were  just  like  a  story.  But  she  spoke  about 
family  affairs,  such  as  the  distribution  of  the  property 
amongst  the  children,  and  grandfather's  purchase  of  a 
new  house,  lightly,  in  the  character  of  a  stranger  re- 
garding the  matter  from  a  distance,  or  at  the  most  that 
of  a  neighbor,  rather  than  that  of  the  person  next  in 
importance  to  the  head  of  the  house. 

From  her  I  learned  that  Tsiganok  was  a  foundling; 
he  had  been  found  one  wet  night  in  early  spring,  on  a 
bench  in  the  porch. 

"There  he  lay,"  said  grandmother  pensively  and 


MY  CHILDHOOD  49 

mysteriously,  "hardly  able  to  cry,  for  he  was  nearly 
numb  with  cold." 

"But  why  do  people  abandon  children?" 

"It  is  because  the  mother  has  no  milk,  or  anything 
to  feed  her  baby  with.  Then  she  hears  that  a  child 
which  has  been  born  somewhere  lately  is  dead,  and  she 
goes  and  leaves  her  own  there." 

She  paused  and  scratched  her  head;  then  sighing 
and  gazing  at  the  ceiling,  she  continued : 

"Poverty  is  always  the  reason,  Oleysha;  and  a  kind 
of  poverty  which  must  not  be  talked  about,  for  an  un- 
married girl  dare  not  admit  that  she  has  a  child — peo- 
ple would  cry  shame  upon  her. 

"Grandfather  wanted  to  hand  Vaniushka  over  to 
the  police,  but  I  said  'No,  we  will  keep  him  ourselves  to 
fill  the  place  of  our  dead  ones/  For  I  have  had  eight- 
een children,  you  know.  If  they  had  all  lived  they 
would  have  filled  a  street — eighteen  new  families !  I 
was  married  at  eighteen,  you  see,  and  by  this  time  I  had 
had  fifteen  children,  but  God  so  loved  my  flesh  and 
blood  that  He  took  all  of  them — all  my  little  babies  to 
the  angels,  and  I  was  sorry  and  glad  at  the  same  time." 

Sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  in  her  nightdress, 
huge  and  dishevelled,  with  her  black  hair  falling  about 
her,  she  looked  like  the  bear  which  a  bearded  woodman 
from  Cergatch  had  led  into  our  yard  not  long  ago. 

Making  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  her  spotless,  snow- 


50  MY  CHILDHOOD 

white  breast,  she  laughed  softly,  always  ready  to  make 
light  of  everything. 

"It  was  better  for  them  to  be  taken,  but  hard  for 
me  to  be  left  desolate,  so  I  was  delighted  to  have  Ivanka 
— but  even  now  I  feel  the  pain  of  my  love  for  you,  my 
little  ones!  .  .  .  Well,  we  kept  him,  and  baptized 
him,  and  he  still  lives  happily  with  us.  At  first  I  used 
to  call  him  'Beetle,'  because  he  really  did  buzz  some- 
times, and  went  creeping  and  buzzing  through  the 
rooms  just  like  a  beetle.  You  must  love  him.  He  is 
a  good  soul." 

I  did  love  Ivan,  and  admired  him  inexpressibly. 
On  Saturday  when,  after  punishing  the  children  for 
the  transgressions  of  the  week,  grandfather  went  to 
vespers,  we  had  an  indescribably  happy  time  in  the 
kitchen. 

Tsiganok  would  get  some  cockroaches  from  the 
stove,  make  a  harness  of  thread  for  them  with  great 
rapidity,  cut  out  a  paper  sledge,  and  soon  two  pairs 
of  black  horses  were  prancing  on  the  clean,  smooth, 
yellow  table.  Ivan  drove  them  at  a  canter,  with  a 
thin  splinter  of  wood  as  a  whip,  and  urged  them  on, 
shouting : 

"Now  they  have  started  for  the  Bishop's  house." 

Then  he  gummed  a  small  piece  of  paper  to  the  back 
of  one  of  the  cockroaches  and  sent  him  to  run  behind 
the  sledge. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  51 

"We  forgot  the  bag,"  he  explained.  "The  monk 
drags  it  with  him  as  he  runs.  Now  then,  gee- 
up!" 

He  tied  the  feet  of  another  cockroach  together  with 
cotton,  and  as  the  insect  hopped  along,  with  its  head 
thrust  forward,  he  cried,  clapping  his  hands : 

"This  is  the  deacon  coming  out  of  the  wineshop 
to  say  vespers." 

After  this  he  showed  us  a  mouse  which  stood  up  at 
the  word  of  command,  and  walked  on  his  hind  legs, 
dragging  his  long  tail  behind  him  and  blinking  comi- 
cally with  his  lively  eyes,  which  were  like  black  glass 
beads. 

He  made  friends  of  mice,  and  used  to  carry  them 
about  in  his  bosom,  and  feed  them  with  sugar  and 
kiss  them. 

"Mice  are  clever  creatures,"  he  used  to  say  in  a  tone 
of  conviction.  "The  house-goblin  is  very  fond  of 
them,  and  whoever  feeds  them  will  have  all  his  wishes 
granted  by  the  old  hob-goblin." 

He  could  do  conjuring  tricks  with  cards  and  coins 
too,  and  he  used  to  shout  louder  than  any  of  the  chil- 
dren; in  fact,  there  was  hardly  any  difference  between 
them  and  him.  One  day  when  they  were  playing  cards 
with  him  they  made  him  "booby"  several  times  in  suc- 
cession, and  he  was  very  much  offended.  He  stuck 
his  lips  out  sulkily  and  refused  to  play  any  more,  and 


52  MY  CHILDHOOD 

he  complained  to  me  afterward,  his  nose  twitching  as 
he  spoke : 

"It  was  a  put-up  job!  They  were  signaling  to  one 
another  and  passing  the  cards  about  under  the  table. 
Do  you  call  that  playing  the  game*?  If  it  comes  to 
trickery  I  'm  not  so  bad  at  it  myself." 

Yet  he  was  nineteen  years  old  and  bigger  than  all 
four  of  us  put  together. 

I  have  special  memories  of  him  on  holiday  evenings, 
when  grandfather  and  Uncle  Michael  went  out  to  see 
their  friends,  and  curly  headed,  untidy  Uncle  Jaakov 
appeared  with  his  guitar  while  grandmother  prepared 
tea  with  plenty  of  delicacies,  and  vodka  in  a  square 
bottle  with  red  flowers  cleverly  molded  in  glass  on  its 
lower  part.  Tsiganok  shone  bravely  on  these  occa- 
sions in  his  holiday  attire.  Creeping  softly  and  side- 
ways came  Gregory,  with  his  colored  spectacles  gleam- 
ing; came  Nyanya  Eugenia — pimply,  red-faced  and 
fat  like  a  Toby-jug,  with  cunning  eyes  and  a  piping 
voice;  came  the  hirsute  deacon  from  Uspenski,  and 
other  dark  slimy  people  bearing  a  resemblance  to  pikes 
and  eels.  They  all  ate  and  drank  a  lot,  breathing  hard 
the  while;  and  the  children  had  wineglasses  of  sweet 
syrup  given  them  as  a  treat,  and  gradually  there  was 
kindled  a  warm  but  strange  gaiety. 

Uncle  Jaakov  tuned  his  guitar  amorously,  and  as  he 
did  so  he  always  uttered  the  same  words : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  53 

"Well,  now  let  us  begin !" 

Shaking  his  curly  head,  he  bent  over  the  guitar, 
stretching  out  his  neck  like  a  goose;  the  expression  on 
his  round,  careless  face  became  dreamy,  his  passionate, 
elusive  eyes  were  obscured  in  an  unctuous  mist,  and 
lightly  touching  the  chords,  he  played  something  dis- 
jointed, involuntarily  rising  to  his  feet  as  he  played. 
His  music  demanded  an  intense  silence.  It  rushed  like 
a  rapid  torrent  from  somewhere  far  away,  stirring  one's 
heart  and  penetrating  it  with  an  incomprehensible  sen- 
sation of  sadness  and  uneasiness.  Under  the  influence 
of  that  music  we  all  became  melancholy,  and  the  oldest 
present  felt  themselves  to  be  no  more  than  children. 
We  sat  perfectly  still — lost  in  a  dreamy  silence. 
Sascha  Michailov  especially  listened  with  all  his  might 
as  he  sat  upright  beside  our  uncle,  gazing  at  the  guitar 
open-mouthed,  and  slobbering  with  delight.  And  the 
rest  of  us  remained  as  if  we  had  been  frozen,  or  had 
been  put  under  a  spell.  The  only  sound  besides  was 
the  gentle  murmur  of  the  samovar  which  did  not  inter- 
fere with  the  complaint  of  the  guitar. 

Two  small  square  windows  threw  their  light  into 
the  darkness  of  the  autumn  night,  and  from  time  to 
time  some  one  tapped  on  them  lightly.  The  yellow 
lights  of  two  tallow  candles,  pointed  like  spears,  flick- 
ered on  the  table. 

Uncle  Jaakov  grew  more  and  more  rigid,  as  though 


54  MY  CHILDHOOD 

he  were  in  a  deep  sleep  with  his  teeth  clenched;  but 
his  hands  seemed  to  live  with  a  separate  existence. 
The  bent  fingers  of  his  right  hand  quivered  indistinctly 
over  the  dark  keyboard,  just  like  fluttering  and  strug- 
gling birds,  while  his  left  passed  up  and  down  the 
neck  with  elusive  rapidity. 

When  he  had  been  drinking  he  nearly  always  sang 
through  his  teeth  in  an  unpleasantly  shrill  voice,  an  end- 
less song: 

"If  Jaakove  were  a  dog 
He  'd  howl  from  morn  to  night. 
Oie!     I  am  a-weary! 
Oie!     Life  is  dreary! 
In  the  streets  the  nuns  walk, 
On  the  fence  the  ravens  talk. 
Oie!     I  am  a-weary! 
The  cricket  chirps  behind  the  stove 
And  sets  the  beetles  on  the  move. 
Oie!     I  am  a-weary! 
One  beggar  hangs  his  stockings  up  to  dry, 
The  other  steals  it  away  on  the  sly. 
Oie!     I  am  a-weary! 
Yes !     Life  is  very  dreary !" 

I  could  not  bear  this  song,  and  when  my  uncle  came 
to  the  part  about  the  beggars  I  used  to  weep  in  a 
tempest  of  ungovernable  misery. 

The  music  had  the  same  effect  on  Tsiganok  as  on 
the  others ;  he  listened  to  it,  running  his  fingers  through 


MY  CHILDHOOD  55 

his  black,  shaggy  locks,  and  staring  into  a  cornef,  half- 
asleep. 

Sometimes  he  would  exclaim  unexpectedly  in  a  com- 
plaining tone,  "Ah !  if  I  only  had  a  voice.  Lord !  how 
I  should  sing." 

And  grandmother,  with  a  sigh,  would  say:  "Are 
you  going  to  break  our  hearts,  Jaasha1?  .  .  .  Suppose 
you  give  us  a  dance,  Vanyatka*?" 

Her  request  was  not  always  complied  with  at  once, 
but  it  did  sometimes  happen  that  the  musician  sud- 
denly swept  the  chords  with  his  hands,  then,  doubling 
up  his  fists  with  a  gesture  as  if  he  were  noiselessly  cast- 
ing an  invisible  something  from  him  to  the  floor,  cried 
sharply : 

"Away,  melancholy!     Now,  Vanka,  stand  up!" 

Looking  very  smart,  as  he  pulled  his  yellow  blouse 
straight,  Tsiganok  would  advance  to  the  middle  of  the 
kitchen,  very  carefully,  as  if  he  were  walking  on  nails, 
and  blushing  all  over  his  swarthy  face  and  simpering 
bashfully,  would  say  entreatingly : 

"Faster,  please,  Jaakov  Vassilitch !" 

The  guitar  jingled  furiously,  heels  tapped  spas- 
modically on  the  floor,  plates  and  dishes  rattled  on  the 
table  and  in  the  cupboard,  while  Tsiganok  blazed 
amidst  the  kitchen  lights,  swooping  like  a  kite,  waving 
his  arms  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill,  and  moving  his 


56  MY  CHILDHOOD 

feet  so  quickly  that  they  seemed  to  be  stationary;  then 
he  stooped  to  the  floor,  and  spun  round  and  round  like 
a  golden  swallow,  the  splendor  of  his  silk  blouse  shed- 
ding an  illumination  all  around,  as  it  quivered  and 
rippled,  as  if  he  were  alight  and  floating  in  the  air. 
He  danced  unweariedly,  oblivious  of  everything,  and 
it  seemed  as  though,  if  the  door  were  to  open,  he  would 
have  danced  out,  down  the  street,  and  through  the  town 
and  away  .  .  .  beyond  our  ken. 

"Cross  over!"  cried  Uncle  Jaakov,  stamping  his 
feet,  and  giving  a  piercing  whistle ;  then  in  an  irritating 
voice  he  shouted  the  old,  quaint  saying: 

"Oh,  my !  if  I  were  not  sorry  to  leave  ray  spade 
I  'd  from  my  wife  and  children  a  break  have  made." 

The  people  sitting  at  table  pawed  at  each  other,  and 
from  time  to  time  shouted  and  yelled  as  if  they  were 
being  roasted  alive.  The  bearded  chief  workman 
slapped  his  bald  head  and  joined  in  the  uproar.  Once 
he  bent  towards  me,  brushing  my  shoulder  with  his 
soft  beard,  and  said  in  my  ear,  just  as  he  might  speak 
to  a  grown-up  person : 

"If  your  father  were  here,  Alexei  Maximitch,  he 
would  have  added  to  the  fun.  A  merry  fellow  he 
was — always  cheerful.  You  remember  him,  don't 
you?" 

"No." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  57 

"You  don't*?  Well,  once  he  and  your  grandmother 
— but  wait  a  bit." 

Tall  and  emaciated,  somewhat  resembling  a  con- 
ventional icon,  he  stood  up,  and  bowing  to  grand- 
mother, entreated  in  an  extraordinarily  gruff  voice: 

"Akulina  Ivanovna,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  dance 
for  us  as  you  did  once  with  Maxim  Savatyevitch1?  It 
would  cheer  us  up." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  my  dear  man*? 
What  do  you  mean,  Gregory  Ivanovitch*?"  cried 
grandmother,  smiling  and  bridling.  "Fancy  me  danc- 
ing at  my  time  of  life!  I  should  only  make  people 
laugh." 

But  suddenly  she  jumped  up  with  a  youthful  air, 
arranged  her  skirts,  and  very  upright,  tossed  her  pon- 
derous head  and  darted  across  the  kitchen,  crying : 

"Well,  laugh  if  you  want  to!  And  a  lot  of  good 
may  it  do  you.  Now,  Jaasha,  play  up !" 

My  uncle  let  himself  go,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  went 
on  playing  very  slowly.  Tsiganok  stood  still  for  a 
moment,  and  then  leaped  over  to  where  grandmother 
was  and  encircled  her,  resting  on  his  haunches,  while 
she  skimmed  the  floor  without  a  sound,  as  if  she  were 
floating  on  air,  her  arms  spread  out,  her  eyebrows 
raised,  her  dark  eyes  gazing  into  space.  She  appeared 
very  comical  to  me,  and  I  made  fun  of  her;  but  Gregory 
held  up  his  finger  sternly,  and  all  the  grown-up  peo- 


58  MY  CHILDHOOD 

pie   looked   disapprovingly  over   to  my  side   of  the 
room. 

"Don't  make  a  noise,  Ivan,"  said  Gregory,  and  Tsig- 
anok  obediently  jumped  to  one  side,  and  sat  by  the 
door,  while  Nyanya  Eugenia,  thrusting  out  her  Adam's 
apple,  began  to  sing  in  her  low-pitched,  pleasant  voice : 

"All  the  week  till  Saturday 
She  does  earn  what  e'er  she  may, 
Making  lace  from  morn  till  night 
Till  she  's  nearly  lost  her  sight." 

Grandmother  seemed  more  as  if  she  were  telling  a 
story  than  dancing.  She  moved  softly,  dreamily; 
swaying  slightly,  sometimes  looking  about  her  from 
under  her  arms,  the  whole  of  her  huge  body  wavering 
uncertainly,  her  feet  feeling  their  way  carefully.  Then 
she  stood  still  as  if  suddenly  frightened  by  something; 
her  face  quivered  and  became  overcast  .  .  .  but  di- 
rectly after  it  was  again  illuminated  by  her  pleasant, 
cordial  smile.  Swinging  to  one  side  as  if  to  make  way 
for  some  one,  she  appeared  to  be  refusing  to  give  her 
hand,  then  letting  her  head  droop  seemed  to  die ;  again, 
she  was  listening  to  some  one  and  smiling  joyfully  .  .  . 
and  suddenly  she  was  whisked  from  her  place  and 
turned  round  and  round  like  a  whirligig,  her  figure 
seemed  to  become  more  elegant,  she  seemed  to  grow 
taller,  and  we  could  not  tear  our  eyes  away  from  her — 
so  triumphantly  beautiful  and  altogether  charming  did 


MY  CHILDHOOD  59 

she  appear  in  that  moment  of  marvelous  rejuvenation. 
And  Nyanya  Eugenia  piped : 

"Then  on  Sundays  after  Mass 
Till  midnight  dances  the  lass, 
Leaving  as  late  as  she  dare, 
Holidays  with  her  are  rare." 

When  she  had  finished  dancing,  grandmother  re- 
turned to  her  place  by  the  samovar.  They  all  ap- 
plauded her,  and  as  she  put  her  hair  straight,  she  said : 

"That  is  enough !  You  have  never  seen  real  danc- 
ing. At  our  home  in  Balakya,  there  was  one  young 
girl — I  have  forgotten  her  name  now,  with  many 
others — but  when  you  saw  her  dance  you  cried  for  joy. 
To  look  at  her  was  a  treat.  You  didn't  want 
anything  else.  How  I  envied  her — sinner  that  I 
was!" 

"Singers  and  dancers  are  the  greatest  people  in  the 
world,"  said  Nyanya  Eugenia  gravely,  and  she  began 
to  sing  something  about  King  David,  while  Uncle 
Jaakov,  embracing  Tsiganok,  said  to  him: 

"You  ought  to  dance  in  the  wineshops.  You  would 
turn  people's  heads." 

"I  wish  I  could  sing!"  complained  Tsiganok.  "If 
God  had  given  me  a  voice  I  should  have  been  singing 
ten  years  by  now,  and  should  have  gone  on  singing  if 
only  as  a  monk." 

They  all  drank  vodka,  and  Gregory  drank  an  extra 


60  MY  CHILDHOOD 

lot.  As  she  poured  out  glass  after  glass  for  him,  grand- 
mother warned  him : 

"Take  care,  Grisha,  or  you  '11  become  quite  blind." 

"I  don't  care !  I  've  no  more  use  for  my  eyesight," 
he  replied  firmly. 

He  drank,  but  he  did  not  get  tipsy,  only  becoming 
more  loquacious  every  moment;  and  he  spoke  to  me 
about  my  father  nearly  all  the  time. 

"A  man  with  a  large  heart  was  my  friend  Maxim 
Savatyevitch  ..." 

Grandmother  sighed  as  she  corroborated : 

"Yes,  indeed  he  was — a  true  child  of  God." 

All  this  was  extremely  interesting,  and  held  me  spell- 
bound, and  filled  my  heart  with  a  tender,  not  unpleas- 
ant sadness.  For  sadness  and  gladness  live  within  us 
side  by  side,  almost  inseparable ;  the  one  succeeding  the 
other  with  an  elusive,  unappreciable  swiftness. 

Once  Uncle  Jaakov,  being  rather  tipsy,  began  to 
rend  his  shirt,  and  to  clutch  furiously  at  his  curly  hair, 
his  grizzled  mustache,  his  nose  and  his  pendulous  lip. 

"What  am  I*?"  he  howled,  dissolved  in  tears. 
"Why  am  I  here?"  And  striking  himself  on  the  cheek, 
forehead  and  chest,  he  sobbed:  "Worthless,  de- 
graded creature !  Lost  soul !" 

"A — ah !     You  're  right !"  growled  Gregory. 

But  grandmother,  who  was  also  not  quite  sober,  said 
to  her  son,  catching  hold  of  his  hand : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  61 

"That  will  do,  Jaasha.  God  knows  how  to  teach 
us." 

,  When  she  had  been  drinking,  she  was  even  more 
attractive;  her  eyes  grew  darker  and  smiled,  shedding 
the  warmth  of  her  heart  upon  every  one.  Brushing 
aside  the  handkerchief  which  made  her  face  too  hot, 
she  would  say  in  a  tipsy  voice: 

"Lord!  Lord!  How  good  everything  is!  Don't 
you  see  how  good  everything  is*?" 

And  this  was  a  cry  from  her  heart — the  watchword 
of  her  whole  life. 

I  was  much  impressed  by  the  tears  and  cries  of  my 
happy-go-lucky  uncle,  and  I  asked  grandmother  why 
he  cried  and  scolded  and  beat  himself  so. 

"You  want  to  know  everything!"  she  said  reluc- 
tantly, quite  unlike  her  usual  manner.  "But  wait  a 
bit.  You  will  be  enlightened  about  this  affair  quite 
soon  enough." 

My  curiosity  was  still  more  excited  by  this,  and  I 
went  to  the  workshop  and  attacked  Ivan  on  the  sub- 
ject, but  he  would  not  answer  me.  He  just  laughed 
quietly  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Gregory,  and  hustled 
me  out,  crying: 

"Give  over  now,  and  run  away.  If  you  don't  I  '11 
put  you  in  the  vat  and  dye  you." 

Gregory,  standing  before  the  broad,  low  stove,  with 
vats  cemented  to  it,  stirred  them  with  a  long  black 


62  MY  CHILDHOOD 

poker,  lifting  it  up  now  and  again  to  see  the  colored 
drops  fall  from  its  end.  The  brightly  burning  flames 
played  on  the  skin-apron,  multi-colored  like  the  chas- 
uble of  a  priest,  which  he  wore.  The  dye  simmered 
in  the  vats;  an  acrid  vapor  extended  in  a  thick  cloud 
to  the  door.  Gregory  glanced  at  me  from  under  his 
glasses,  with  his  clouded,  bloodshot  eyes,  and  said 
abruptly  to  Ivan: 

"You  are  wanted  in  the  yard.     Can't  you  see1?" 

But  when  Tsiganok  had  gone  into  the  yard,  Gregory, 
sitting  on  a  sack  of  santaline,  beckoned  me  to  him. 

"Come  here!" 

Drawing  me  on  to  his  knee,  and  rubbing  his  warm, 
soft  beard  against  my  cheek,  he  said  in  a  tone  of  rem- 
iniscence : 

"Your  uncle  beat  and  tortured  his  wife  to  death, 
and  now  his  conscience  pricks  him.  Do  you  under- 
stand? You  want  to  understand  everything,  you  seej 
and  so  you  get  muddled." 

Gregory  was  as  simple  as  grandmother,  but  his 
words  were  disconcerting,  and  he  seemed  to  look 
through  and  through  every  one. 

"How  did  he  kill  her?"  he  went  on  in  a  leisurely 
tone.  "Why,  like  this.  He  was  lying  in  bed  with 
her,  and  he  threw  the  counterpane  over  her  head,  and 
held  it  down  while  he  beat  her.  Why"?  He  doesn't 
know  himself  why  he  did  it." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  63 

And  paying  no  attention  to  Ivan,  who,  having  re- 
turned with  an  armful  of  goods  from  the  yard,  was 
squatting  before  the  fire,  warming  his  hands,  the  head 
workman  suggested: 

"Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  better  than  he  was, 
and  he  was  envious  of  her.  The  Kashmirins  do  not 
like  good  people,  my  boy.  They  are  jealous  of  them. 
They  cannot  stand  them,  and  try  to  get  them  out  of 
the  way.  Ask  your  grandmother  how  they  got  rid  of 
your  father.  She  will  tell  you  everything;  she  hates 
deceit,  because  she  does  not  understand  it.  She  may 
be  reckoned  among  the  saints,  although  she  drinks 
wine  and  takes  snuff.  She  is  a  splendid  woman. 
Keep  hold  of  her,  and  never  let  her  go." 

He  pushed  me  towards  the  door,  and  I  went  out  into 
the  yard,  depressed  and  scared.  Vaniushka  overtook 
me  at  the  entrance  of  the  house,  and  whispered 
softly : 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  him.  He  is  all  right.  Look 
him  straight  in  the  eyes.  That 's  what  he  likes." 

It  was  all  very  strange  and  distressing.  I  hardly 
knew  any  other  existence,  but  I  remembered  vaguely 
that  my  father  and  mother  used  not  to  live  like  this; 
they  had  a  different  way  of  speaking,  and  a  different 
idea  of  happiness.  They  always  went  about  together 
and  sat  close  to  each  other.  They  laughed  very  fre- 
quently and  for  a  long  time  together,  in  the  evenings, 


64  MY  CHILDHOOD 

as  they  sat  at  the  window  and  sang  at  the  top  of  their 
voices;  and  people  gathered  together  in  the  street  and 
looked  at  them.  The  raised  faces  of  these  people  as 
they  looked  up  reminded  me  comically  of  dirty  plates 
after  dinner.  But  here  people  seldom  laughed,  and 
when  they  did  it  was  not  always  easy  to  guess  what 
they  were  laughing  at.  They  often  raged  at  one 
another,  and  secretly  muttered  threats  against  each 
other  in  the  corners.  The  children  were  subdued  and 
neglected;  beaten  down  to  earth  like  the  dust  by  the 
rain.  I  felt  myself  a  stranger  in  the  house,  and  all 
the  circumstances  of  my  existence  in  it  were  nothing 
but  a  series  of  stabs,  pricking  me  on  to  suspicion,  and 
compelling  me  to  study  what  went  on  with  the  closest 
attention. 

My  friendship  with  Tsiganok  grew  apace.  Grand- 
mother was  occupied  with  household  duties  from  sun- 
rise till  late  at  night,  and  I  hung  round  Tsiganok 
nearly  the  whole  day.  He  still  used  to  put  his  hand 
under  the  rod  whenever  grandfather  thrashed  me,  and 
the  next  day,  displaying  his  swollen  fingers,  he  would 
complain : 

"There  's  no  sense  in  it !  It  does  not  make  it  any 
lighter  for  you,  and  look  what  it  does  to  me.  I  won't 
stand  it  any  longer,  so  there !" 

But  the  next  time  he  put  himself  in  the  way  of 
being  needlessly  hurt  just  the  same. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  65 

"But  I  thought  you  did  not  mean  to  do  it  again?" 
I  would  say. 

"I  didn't  mean  to,  but  it  happened  somehow.  I 
did  it  without  thinking." 

Soon  after  this  I  learned  something  about  Tsiganok 
which  increased  my  interest  in  and  love  for  him. 

Every  Friday  he  used  to  harness  the  bay  gelding 
Sharapa,  grandmother's  pet — a  cunning,  saucy,  dainty 
creature — to  the  sledge.  Then  he  put  on  his  fur  coat, 
which  reached  to  his  knees,  and  his  heavy  cap,  and 
tightly  buckling  his  green  belt,  set  out  for  the  market 
to  buy  provisions.  Sometimes  it  was  very  late  before 
he  returned,  and  the  whole  household  became  uneasy. 
Some  one  would  run  to  the  window  every  moment,  and 
breathing  on  the  panes  to  thaw  the  ice,  would  look  up 
and  down  the  road. 

"Is  n't  he  in  sight  yet?' 

"No." 

Grandmother  was  always  more  concerned  than  any 
of  them. 

"Alas !"  she  would  exclaim  to  her  sons  and  my  grand- 
father, "you  have  ruined  both  the  man  and  the  horse. 
I  wonder  you  are  n't  ashamed  of  yourselves,  you  con- 
scienceless creatures!  Ach!  You  family  of  fools, 
you  tipplers !  God  will  punish  you  for  this." 

"That  is  enough!"  growled  grandfather,  scowling. 
"This  is  the  last  time  it  happens." 


66  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Sometimes  Tsiganok  did  not  return  till  midday. 
My  uncles  and  grandfather  hurried  out  to  the  yard  to 
meet  him,  and  grandmother  ambled  after  them  like  a 
bear,  taking  snuff  with  a  determined  air,  because  it  was 
her  hour  for  taking  it.  The  children  ran  out,  and  the 
joyful  unloading  of  the  sledge  began.  It  was  full  of 
pork,  dead  birds,  and  joints  of  all  kinds  of  meat. 

"Have  you  bought  all  we  told  you  to*?"  asked 
grandfather,  probing  the  load  with  a  sidelong  glance 
of  his  sharp  eyes. 

"Yes,  it  is  all  right,"  answered  Ivan  gaily,  as  he 
jumped  about  the  yard,  and  slapped  his  mittened  hands 
together,  to  warm  himself. 

"Don't  wear  your  mittens  out.  They  cost  money," 
said  grandfather  sternly.  "Have  you  any  change1?" 

"No." 

Grandfather  walked  quietly  round  the  load  and  said 
in  a  low  tone : 

"Again  you  have  bought  too  much.  However,  you 
can't  do  it  without  money,  can  you?  I  '11  have  no 
more  of  this."  And  he  strode  away  scowling. 

My  uncles  joyfully  set  to  work  on  the  load,  whistling 
as  they  balanced  bird,  fish,  goose-giblets,  calves'  feet, 
and  enormous  pieces  of  meat  on  their  hands. 

"Well,  that  was  soon  unloaded!"  they  cried  with 
loud  approval. 

Uncle  Michael  especially  was  in  raptures,  jumping 


MY  CHILDHOOD  67 

about  the  load,  sniffing  hard  at  the  poultry,  smacking 
his  lips  with  relish,  closing  his  restless  eyes  in  ecstasy. 
He  resembled  his  father;  he  had  the  same  dried-up 
appearance,  only  he  was  taller  and  his  hair  was 
dark. 

Slipping  his  chilled  hands  up  his  sleeves,  he  in- 
quired of  Tsiganok : 

"How  much  did  my  father  give  you*?" 

"Five  roubles." 

"There  is  fifteen  roubles'  worth  here!  How  much 
did  you  spend  ?" 

"Four  roubles,  ten  kopecks." 

"Perhaps  the  other  ninety  kopecks  is  in  your  pocket. 
Have  n't  you  noticed,  Jaakov,  how  money  gets  all  over 
the  place?' 

Uncle  Jaakov,  standing  in  the  frost  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, laughed  quietly,  blinking  in  the  cold  blue  light. 

"You  have  some  brandy  for  us,  Vanka,  have  n't 
you1?"  he  asked  lazily. 

Grandmother  meanwhile  was  unharnessing  the  horse. 

"There,  my  little  one!  There!  Spoiled  child! 
There,  God's  plaything!" 

Great  Sharapa,  tossing  his  thick  mane,  fastened  his 
white  teeth  in  her  shoulder,  pushed  his  silky  nose  into 
her  hair,  gazed  into  her  face  with  contented  eyes,  and 
shaking  the  frost  from  his  eyelashes,  softly  neighed. 

"Ah !  you  want  some  bread." 


68  MY  CHILDHOOD 

She  thrust  a  large,  salted  crust  in  his  mouth,  and 
making  her  apron  into  a  bag  under  his  nose,  she 
thoughtfully  watched  him  eat. 

Tsiganok,  himself  as  playful  as  a  young  horse, 
sprang  to  her  side. 

"He  is  such  a  good  horse,  Grandma!  And  so 
clever !" 

"Get  away!  Don't  try  your  tricks  on  me!"  cried 
grandmother,  stamping  her  foot.  "You  know  that  I 
am  not  fond  of  you  to-day." 

She  afterwards  explained  to  me  that  Tsiganok  had 
not  bought  so  much  in  the  market  as  he  had  stolen. 
"If  grandfather  gives  him  five  roubles,  he  spends 
three  and  steals  three  roubles'  worth,"  she  said  sadly. 
"He  takes  a  pleasure  in  stealing.  He  is  like  a  spoiled 
child.  He  tried  it  once,  and  it  turned  out  well;  he 
was  laughed  at  and  praised  for  his  success,  and  that 
is  how  he  got  into  the  habit  of  thieving.  And  grand- 
father, who  in  his  youth  ate  the  bread  of  poverty  till 
he  wanted  no  more  of  it,  has  grown  greedy  in  his  old 
age,  and  money  is  dearer  to  him  now  than  the  blood 
of  his  own  children!  He  is  glad  even  of  a  present! 
As  for  Michael  and  Jaakov  .  .  ." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  contempt  and  was  silent  a 
moment;  then  looking  fixedly  at  the  closed  lid  of  her 
snuff-box,  she  went  on  querulously: 

"But  there,  Lenya,  that 's  a  bit  of  work  done  by  a 


MY  CHILDHOOD  69 

blind  woman  .  .  .  Dame  Fortune  .  .  .  there  she  sits 
spinning  for  us  and  we  can't  even  choose  the  pattern. 
.  .  .  But  there  it  is!  If  they  caught  Ivan  thieving 
they  would  beat  him  to  death." 

And  after  another  silence  she  continued  quietly: 

"Ah !  we  have  plenty  of  principles,  but  we  don't  put 
them  into  practice." 

The  next  day  I  begged  Vanka  not  to  steal  any  more. 
"If  you  do  they  '11  beat  you  to  death." 

"They  won't  touch  me  ...  I  should  soon  wriggle 
out  of  their  clutches.  I  am  as  lively  as  a  mettlesome 
horse,"  he  said,  laughing;  but  the  next  minute  his 
face  fell.  "Of  course  I  know  quite  well  that  it  is 
wrong  and  risky  to  steal.  I  do  it  .  .  .  just  to  amuse 
myself,  because  I  am  bored.  And  I  don't  save  any 
of  the  money.  Your  uncles  get  it  all  out  of  me  be- 
fore the  week  is  over.  But  I  don't  care!  Let  them 
take  it.  I  have  more  than  enough." 

Suddenly  he  took  me  up  in  his  arms,  shaking  me 
gently. 

"You  will  be  a  strong  man,  you  are  so  light  and 
slim,  and  your  bones  are  so  firm.  I  say,  why  don't 
you  learn  to  play  on  the  guitar?  Ask  Uncle  Jaakov! 
But  you  are  too  small  yet,  that 's  a  pity !  You  're 
little,  but  you  have  a  temper  of  your  own !  You  don't 
like  your  grandfather  much,  do  you*?" 

"I  don't  know." 


70  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"I  don't  like  any  of  the  Kashmirins  except  your 
grandmother.  Let  the  devil  like  them !" 

"What  about  me*?" 

"You*?  You  are  not  a  Kashmirin.  You  are  a 
Pyeshkov.  .  .  .  That's  different  blood — a  different 
stock  altogether." 

Suddenly  he  gave  me  a  violent  squeeze. 

"Ah!"  he  almost  groaned.  "If  only  I  had  a  good 
voice  for  singing!  Good  Lord!  what  a  stir  I  should 
make  in  the  world!  .  .  .  Run  away  now,  old  chap. 
I  must  get  on  with  my  work." 

He  set  me  down  on  the  floor,  put  a  handful  of  fine 
nails  into  his  mouth,  and  began  to  stretch  and  nail 
damp  breadths  of  black  material  on  a  large  square 
board. 

His  end  came  very  soon  after  this. 

It  happened  thus.  Leaning  up  against  a  partition 
by  the  gate  in  the  yard  was  placed  a  large  oaken  cross 
with  stout,  knotty  arms.  It  had  been  there  a  long 
time.  I  had  noticed  it  in  the  early  days  of  my  life 
in  the  house,  when  it  had  been  new  and  yellow,  but 
now  it  was  blackened  by  the  autumn  rains.  It  gave 
forth  the  bitter  odor  of  barked  oak,  and  it  was  in  the 
way  in  the  crowded,  dirty  yard. 

Uncle  Jaakov  had  bought  it  to  place  over  the  grave 
of  his  wife,  and  had  made  a  vow  to  carry  it  on  his 
shoulders  to  the  cemetery  on  the  anniversary  of  her 


MY  CHILDHOOD  71 

death,  which  fell  on  a  Saturday  at  the  beginning  of 
winter. 

It  was  frosty  and  windy  and  there  had  been  a  fall 
of  snow.  Grandfather  and  grandmother,  with  the 
three  grandchildren,  had  gone  early  to  the  cemetery 
to  hear  the  requiem;  I  was  left  at  home  as  a  punish- 
ment for  some  fault. 

My  uncles,  dressed  alike  in  short  black  fur  coats, 
lifted  the  cross  from  the  ground  and  stood  under  its 
arms.  Gregory  and  some  men  not  belonging  to  the 
yard  raised  the  heavy  beams  with  difficulty,  and  placed 
the  cross  on  the  broad  shoulders  of  Tsiganok.  He  tot- 
tered, and  his  legs  seemed  to  give  way. 

"Are  you  strong  enough  to  carry  it1?"  asked  Greg- 
ory. 

"I  don't  know.     It  seems  heavy." 

"Open  the  gate,  you  blind  devil!"  cried  Uncle 
Michael  angrily. 

And  Uncle  Jaakov  said: 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Vanka. 
You  are  stronger  than  the  two  of  us  together." 

But  Gregory,  throwing  open  the  gate,  persisted  in 
advising  Ivan: 

"Take  care  you  don't  break  down!  Go,  and  may 
God  be  with  you !" 

"Bald-headed  fool !"  cried  Uncle  Michael,  from  the 
street. 


72  MY  CHILDHOOD 

All  the  people  in  the  yard,  meanwhile,  laughed  and 
talked  loudly,  as  if  they  were  glad  to  get  rid  of  the 
cross. 

Gregory  Ivanovitch  took  my  hand  and  led  me  to 
the  workshop,  saying  kindly: 

"Perhaps,  under  the  circumstances,  grandfather 
won't  thrash  you  to-day." 

He  sat  me  on  a  pile  of  woolens  ready  for  dyeing, 
carefully  wrapping  them  round  me  as  high  as  my 
shoulders;  and  inhaling  the  vapor  which  rose  from  the 
vats,  he  said  thoughtfully: 

"I  have  known  your  grandfather  for  thirty-seven 
years,  my  dear.  I  saw  his  business  at  its  commence- 
ment, and  I  shall  see  the  end  of  it.  We  were  friends 
then — in  fact,  we  started  and  planned  out  the  business 
together.  He  is  a  clever  man,  is  your  grandfather! 
He  meant  to  be  master,  but  I  did  not  know  it.  How- 
ever, God  is  more  clever  than  any  of  us.  He  has  only 
to  smile  and  the  wisest  man  will  blink  like  a  fool.  You 
don't  understand  yet  all  that  is  said  and  done,  but  you 
must  learn  to  understand  everything.  An  orphan's 
life  is  a  hard  one.  Your  father,  Maxim  Savatyevitch, 
was  a  trump.  He  was  well-educated  too.  That  is 
why  your  grandfather  did  not  like  him,  and  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him." 

It  was  pleasant  to  listen  to  these  kind  words  and  to 
watch  the  red  and  gold  flames  playing  in  the  stove, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  73 

and  the  milky  cloud  of  steam  which  rose  from  the 
vats  and  settled  like  a  dark  blue  rime  on  the  slanting 
boards  of  the  roof,  through  the  uneven  chinks  of  which 
the  sky  could  be  seen,  like  strands  of  blue  ribbon.  The 
wind  had  fallen;  the  yard  looked  as  if  it  were  strewn 
with  glassy  dust;  the  sledges  gave  forth  a  sharp  sound 
as  they  passed  up  the  street;  a  blue  smoke  rose  from 
the  chimneys  of  the  house;  faint  shadows  glided  over 
the  snow  .  .  .  also  telling  a  story. 

Lean,  long-limbed  Gregory,  bearded  and  hatless, 
large-eared,  just  like  a  good-natured  wizard,  stirred 
the  boiling  dye,  instructing  me  the  while. 

"Look  every  one  straight  in  the  eyes.  And  if  a  dog 
should  fly  at  you,  do  the  same;  he  will  let  you  alone 
then." 

His  heavy  spectacles  pressed  on  the  bridge  of  his 
nose,  the  tip  of  which  was  blue  like  grandmother's — 
and  for  the  same  reason. 

"What  is  that*?"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  listening; 
then  closing  the  door  of  the  stove  with  his  foot,  he 
ran,  or  rather  hopped,  across  the  yard,  and  I  dashed 
after  him.  In  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  floor  lay 
Tsiganok,  face  upwards;  broad  streaks  of  light  from 
the  window  fell  on  his  head,  his  chest,  and  on  his 
feet.  His  forehead  shone  strangely;  his  eyebrows 
were  raised;  his  squinting  eyes  gazed  intently  at  the 
blackened  ceiling;  a  red-flecked  foam  bubbled  from 


74  MY  CHILDHOOD 

his  discolored  lips,  from  the  corners  of  which  also 
flowed  blood  over  his  cheeks,  his  neck,  and  on  to  the 
floor;  and  a  thick  stream  of  blood  crept  from  under 
his  back.  His  legs  were  spread  out  awkwardly,  and 
it  was  plain  that  his  trousers  were  wet;  they  clung 
damply  to  the  boards,  which  had  been  polished  with 
sand,  and  shone  like  the  sun.  The  rivulets  of  blood 
intersected  the  streams  of  light,  and,  showing  up  very 
vividly,  flowed  towards  the  threshold. 

Tsiganok  was  motionless,  except  for  the  fact  that 
as  he  lay  with  his  hands  alongside  his  body,  his  fin- 
gers scratched  at  the  floor,  and  his  stained  fingernails 
shone  in  the  sunlight. 

Nyanya  Eugenia,  crouching  beside  him,  put  a 
slender  candle  into  his  hand,  but  he  could  not  hold  it 
and  it  fell  to  the  floor,  the  wick  being  drenched  in 
blood.  Nyanya  Eugenia  picked  it  up  and  wiped  it 
dry,  and  made  another  attempt  to  fix  it  in  those  rest- 
less fingers.  A  gentle  whispering  made  itself  heard  in 
the  kitchen;  it  seemed  to  blow  me  away  from  the 
door  like  the  wind,  but  I  held  firmly  to  the  door- 
post. 

"He  stumbled!"  Uncle  Jaakov  was  explaining,  in 
a  colorless  voice,  shuddering  and  turning  his  head 
about.  His  face  was  gray  and  haggard;  his  eyes  had 
lost  their  color,  and  blinked  incessantly.  "He  fell, 
and  it  fell  on  top  of  him  .  .  .  and  hit  him  on  the 


MY  CHILDHOOD  75 

back.  We  should  have  been  disabled  if  we  had  not 
dropped  the  cross  in  time." 

"This  is  your  doing,"  said  Gregory  dully. 

"But  how  .  .  .   ?"' 

"JWdidit!" 

All  this  time  the  blood  was  flowing,  and  by  the 
door  had  already  formed  a  pool  which  seemed  to  grow 
darker  and  deeper.  With  another  effusion  of  blood- 
flecked  foam,  Tsiganok  roared  out  as  if  he  were 
dreaming,  and  then  collapsed,  seeming  to  grow  flatter 
and  flatter,  as  if  he  were  glued  to  the  floor,  or  sinking 
through  it. 

"Michael  went  on  horseback  to  the  church  to  find 
father,"  whispered  Uncle  Jaakov,  "and  I  brought 
him  here  in  a  cab  as  quickly  as  I  could.  It  is  a  good 
job  that  I  was  not  standing  under  the  arms  myself,  or 
I  should  have  been  like  this." 

Nyanya  Eugenia  again  fixed  the  candle  in 
Tsiganok's  hand,  dropping  wax  and  tears  in  his  palm. 

"That 's  right !  Glue  his  head  to  the  floor,  you 
careless  creature,"  said  Gregory  gruffly  and  rudely. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why  don't  you  take  off  his  cap"?" 

Nyanya  dragged  Ivan's  cap  from  his  head,  which 
struck  dully  on  the  floor.  Then  it  fell  to  one  side  and 
the  blood  flowed  profusely  from  one  side  of  his  mouth 
only.  This  went  on  for  a  terribly  long  time.  At  first 


76  MY  CHILDHOOD 

I  expected  Tsiganok  to  sit  up  on  the  floor  with  a  sigh, 
and  say  sleepily,  "Phew!  It  is  baking  hot!"  as  he 
used  to  do  after  dinner  on  Sundays. 

But  he  did  not  rise ;  on  the  contrary  he  seemed  to  be 
sinking  into  the  ground.  The  sun  had  withdrawn  from 
him  now;  its  bright  beams  had  grown  shorter,  and 
fell  only  on  the  window-sill.  His  whole  form  grew 
darker;  his  fingers  no  longer  moved;  the  froth  had  dis- 
appeared from  his  lips.  Round  his  head  three  can- 
dles stood  out  from  the  darkness,  waving  their  golden 
flames,  lighting  up  his  dishevelled  blue-black  hair,  and 
throwing  quivering  yellow  ripples  on  his  swarthy 
cheek,  illuminating  the  tip  of  his  pointed  nose  and  his 
blood-stained  teeth. 

Nyanya,  kneeling  at  his  side,  shed  tears  as  she 
lisped :  "My  little  dove !  My  bird  of  consolation !" 

It  was  painfully  cold.  I  crept  under  the  table  and 
hid  myself  there.  Then  grandfather  came  tumbling 
into  the  kitchen,  in  his  coat  of  racoon  fur;  with  him 
came  grandmother  in  a  cloak  with  a  fur  collar,  Uncle 
Michael,  the  children,  and  many  people  not  belong- 
ing to  the  house. 

Throwing  his  coat  on  the  floor,  grandfather  cried: 

"Riff-raff!  See  what  you  have  done  for  me,  be- 
tween you,  in  your  carelessness !  He  would  have  been 
worth  his  weight  in  gold  in  five  years — that 's  cer- 
tain!" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  77 

The  coats  which  had  been  thrown  on  the  floor  hin- 
dered me  from  seeing  Ivan,  so  I  crept  out  and  knocked 
myself  against  grandfather's  legs.  He  hurled  me  to 
one  side,  as  he  shook  his  little  red  fist  threateningly  at 
my  uncles. 

"You  wolves!" 

He  sat  down  on  a  bench,  and  resting  his  arms  upon 
itj  burst  into  dry  sobs,  and  said  in  a  shrill  voice: 

"I  know  all  about  it!  ...  He  stuck  in  your  giz- 
zards! That  was  it!  Oh,  Vaniushka,  poor  fool! 
What  have  they  done  to  you,  eh?  'Rotten  reins  are 
good  enough  for  a  stranger's  horse!'  Mother!  God 
has  not  loved  us  for  the  last  year,  has  He?  Mother!" 

Grandmother,  doubled  up  on  the  floor,  was  feeling 
Ivan's  hands  and  chest,  breathing  upon  his  eyes,  hold- 
ing his  hands  and  chafing  them.  Then,  throwing  down 
all  the  candles,  she  rose  with  difficulty  to  her  feet, 
looking  very  somber  in  her  shiny  black  frock,  and  with 
her  eyes  dreadfully  wide  open,  she  said  in  a  low  voice : 
"Go,  accursed  ones !" 

All,  with  the  exception  of  grandfather,  straggled 
out  of  the  kitchen. 

Tsiganok  was  buried  without  fuss,  and  was  soon 
forgotten. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  WAS  lying  in  a  wide  bed,  with  a  thick  blanket 
folded  four  times  around  me,  listening  to  grand- 
mother, who  was  saying  her  prayers.  She  was  on  her 
knees;  and  pressing  one  hand  against  her  breast,  she 
reverently  crossed  herself  from  time  to  time  with  the 
other.  Out  in  the  yard  a  hard  frost  reigned ;  a  greenish 
moonlight  peeped  through  the  ice  patterns  on  the  win- 
dow-panes, falling  flatteringly  on  her  kindly  face  and 
large  nose,  and  kindling  a  phosphorescent  light  in  her 
dark  eyes.  Her  silky,  luxuriant  tresses  were  lit  up  as 
if  by  a  furnace;  her  dark  dress  rustled,  falling  in  rip- 
ples from  her  shoulders  and  spreading  about  her  on  the 
floor. 

When  she  had  finished  her  prayers  grandmother  un- 
dressed in  silence,  carefully  folding  up  her  clothes  and 
placing  them  on  the  trunk  in  the  corner.  Then  she 
came  to  bed.  I  pretended  to  be  fast  asleep. 

"You  are  not  asleep,  you  rogue,  you  are  only  mak- 
ing believe,"  she  said  softly.  "Come,  my  duck,  let 's 
have  some  bedclothes !" 

Foreseeing  what  would  happen,  I  could  not  repress 
a  smile,  upon  seeing  which  she  cried:  "So  this  is  how 

78 


MY  CHILDHOOD  79 

you  trick  your  old  grandmother?"  And  taking  hold 
of  the  blanket  she  drew  it  towards  her  with  so  much 
force  and  skill  that  I  bounced  up  in  the  air,  and  turn- 
ing over  and  over  fell  back  with  a  squash  into  the  soft 
feather  bed,  while  she  said  with  a  chuckle :  "What  is 
it,  little  Hop  o'  my  Thumb?  Have  you  been  bitten 
by  a  mosquito1?" 

But  sometimes  she  prayed  for  such  a  long  time  that 
I  really  did  fall  asleep,  and  did  not  hear  her  come 
to  bed. 

The  longer  prayers  were  generally  the  conclusion 
of  a  day  of  trouble,  or  a  day  of  quarreling  and  fight- 
ing; and  it  was  very  interesting  to  listen  to  them. 
Grandmother  gave  to  God  a  circumstantial  account 
of  all  that  had  happened  in  the  house.  Bowed  down, 
looking  like  a  great  mound,  she  knelt,  at  first  whisper- 
ing rapidly  and  indistinctly,  then  hoarsely  muttering: 

"O  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  all  of  us  wish  to  do 
better.  Michael,  the  elder,  ought  to  have  been  set  up 
in  the  town — it  will  do  him  harm  to  be  on  the  river; 
and  the  other  is  a  new  neighborhood  and  not  overdone. 
I  don't  know  what  will  come  of  it  all !  There 's 
father  now.  Jaakov  is  his  favorite.  Can't  it  be  right 
to  love  one  child  more  than  the  others'?  He  is  an  ob- 
stinate old  man;  do  Thou,  O  Lord,  teach  him!" 

Gazing  at  the  dark-featured  icon,  with  her  large, 
brilliant  eyes,  she  thus  counseled  God : 


80  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Send  him  a  good  dream,  O  Lord,  to  make  him  un- 
derstand how  he  ought  to  treat  his  children !" 

After  prostrating  herself  and  striking  her  broad  fore- 
head on  the  floor,  she  again  straightened  herself,  and 
said  coaxingly: 

"And  send  Varvara  some  happiness !  How  has  she 
displeased  Thee"?  Is  she  more  sinful  than  the  others'? 
Why  should  a  healthy  young  woman  be  so  afflicted1? 
And  remember  Gregory,  O  Lord!  His  eyes  are  get- 
ting worse  and  worse.  If  he  goes  blind  he  will  be  sent 
adrift.  That  will  be  terrible!  He  has  used  up  all 
his  strength  for  grandfather,  but  do  you  think  it  likely 
that  grandfather  will  help  him*?  O  Lord!  Lord!" 

She  remained  silent  for  a  long  time,  with  her  head 
bowed  meekly,  and  her  hands  hanging  by  her  sides, 
as  still  as  if  she  had  fallen  asleep,  or  had  been  sud- 
denly frozen. 

"What  else  is  there4?"  she  asked  herself  aloud, 
wrinkling  her  brows. 

"O  Lord,  save  all  the  faithful!  Pardon  me — ac- 
cursed fool  as  I  am ! — Thou  knowest  that  I  do  not  sin 
out  of  malice  but  out  of  stupidity."  And  drawing  a 
deep  breath  she  would  say  lovingly  and  contentedly: 
"Son  of  God,  Thou  knowest  all!  Father,  Thou 
seest  all  things." 

I  was  very  fond  of  grandmother's  God  Who  seemed 
so  near  to  her,  and  I  often  said: 


MY  CHILDHOOD  81 

"Tell  me  something  about  God." 

She  used  to  speak  about  Him  in  a  peculiar  manner 
— very  quietly,  strangely  drawing  out  her  words, 
closing  her  eyes;  and  she  made  a  point  of  always  sit- 
ting down  and  arranging  her  head-handkerchief  very 
deliberately  before  she  began. 

"God's  seat  is  on  the  hills,  amidst  the  meadows  of 
Paradise ;  it  is  an  altar  of  sapphires  under  silver  linden 
trees  which  flower  all  the  year  round,  for  in  Paradise 
there  is  no  winter,  nor  even  autumn,  and  the  flowers 
never  wither,  for  joy  is  the  divine  favor.  And  round 
about  God  many  angels  fly  like  flakes  of  snow;  and 
it  may  be  even  that  bees  hum  there,  and  white  doves 
fly  between  Heaven  and  earth,  telling  God  all  about 
us  and  everybody.  And  here  on  earth  you  and  I  and 
grandfather  each  has  been  given  an  angel.  God  treats 
us  all  equally.  For  instance,  your  angel  will  go  and 
tell  God:  'Lexei  put  his  tongue  out  at  grandfather.' 
And  God  says :  'All  right,  let  the  old  man  whip  him.' 
And  so  it  is  with  all  of  us ;  God  gives  to  all  what  they 
deserve — to  some  grief,  to  others  joy.  And  so  all  is 
right  that  He  does,  and  the  angels  rejoice,  and  spread 
their  wings  and  sing  to  Him  without  ceasing:  'Glory 
be  unto  Thee,  O  God ;  Glory  be  unto  Thee.'  And  He 
just  smiles  on  them,  and  it  is  enough  for  them — and 
more."  And  she  would  smile  herself,  shaking  her  head 
from  side  to  side. 


82  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Have  you  seen  that?" 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  it,  but  I  know." 

When  she  spoke  about  God,  or  Heaven,  or  the 
angels,  she  seemed  to  shrink  in  size;  her  face  grew 
younger,  and  her  liquid  eyes  emitted  a  curious  warm 
radiance.  I  used  to  take  her  heavy,  satiny  plait  in  my 
hands,  and  wind  it  round  my  neck  as  I  sat  quite  still 
and  listened  to  the  endless  but  never  tedious  story. 

"It  is  not  given  to  men  to  see  God — their  sight  is 
dim!  Only  the  saints  may  look  upon  Him  face  to 
face.  But  I  have  seen  angels  myself;  they  reveal 
themselves  sometimes  to  souls  in  a  state  of  grace.  I 
was  standing  in  church  at  an  early  Mass,  and  I  saw 
two  moving  about  the  altar  like  clouds.  One  could 
see  everything,  through  them,  growing  brighter  and 
brighter,  and  their  gossamer-like  wings  touched  the 
floor.  They  moved  about  the  altar,  helping  old  Father 
Elia,  and  supporting  his  elbows  as  he  raised  his  feeble 
hands  in  prayer.  He  was  very  old,  and  being  almost 
blind,  stumbled  frequently;  but  that  day  he  got  through 
the  Mass  quickly,  and  was  finished  early.  When  I 
saw  them  I  nearly  died  of  joy.  My  heart  seemed  as 
if  it  would  burst ;  my  tears  ran  down.  Ah,  how  beauti- 
ful it  was!  Oh,  Lenka,  dear  heart,  where  God  is — 
whether  in  Heaven  or  earth — all  goes  well." 

"But  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  everything  goes 
well  here — in  our  house?" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  83 

Making  the  sign  of  the  cross  grandmother  answered : 

"Our  Lady  be  praised — everything  goes  well." 

This  irritated  me.  I  could  not  agree  that  things 
were  going  well  in  our  household.  From  my  point 
of  view  they  were  becoming  more  and  more  intoler- 
able. 

One  day,  as  I  passed  the  door  of  Uncle  Michael's 
room  I  saw  Aunt  Natalia,  not  fully  dressed,  with  her 
hands  folded  on  her  breast,  pacing  up  and  down  like 
a  creature  distraught,  and  moaning,  not  loudly,  but 
in  a  tone  of  agony : 

"My  God,  take  me  under  Thy  protection !  Remove 
me  from  here !" 

I  could  sympathize  with  her  prayer  as  well  as  I  could 
understand  Gregory  when  he  growled: 

"As  soon  as  I  am  quite  blind  they  will  turn  me  out 
to  beg;  it  will  be  better  than  this,  anyhow." 

And  I  wished  that  he  would  make  haste  and  go  blind, 
for  I  meant  to  seize  the  opportunity  to  go  away  with 
him  so  that  we  could  start  begging  together.  I  had  al- 
ready mentioned  the  matter  to  Gregory,  and  he  had  re- 
plied, smiling  in  his  beard : 

"That 's  right !  We  will  go  together.  But  I  shall 
show  myself  in  the  town.  There 's  a  grandson  of 
Vassili  Kashmirin's  there — his  daughter's  son;  he  may 
give  me  something  to  do." 

More  than  once  I  noticed  a  blue  swelling  under  the 


84  MY  CHILDHOOD 

sunken  eyes  of  Aunt  Natalia;  and  sometimes  a  swollen 
lip  was  thrown  into  relief  by  her  yellow  face. 

"Does  Uncle  Michael  beat  her,  then?"  I  asked 
grandmother.  And  she  answered  with  a  sigh : 

"Yes,  he  beats  her,  but  not  very  hard — the  devil! 
Grandfather  does  not  object  so  long  as  he  does  it  at 
night.  He  is  ill-natured,  and  she — she  is  like  a 
jelly! 

"But  he  does  not  beat  her  as  much  as  he  used  to," 
she  continued  in  a  more  cheerful  tone.  "He  just  gives 
her  a  blow  on  the  mouth,  or  boxes  her  ears,  or  drags  her 
about  by  the  hair  for  a  minute  or  so;  but  at  one  time 
he  used  to  torture  her  for  hours  together.  Grandfather 
beat  me  one  Easter  Day  from  dinner-time  till  bed-time. 
He  kept  on;  he  just  stopped  to  get  his  breath  some- 
times, and  then  started  again.  And  he  used  a  strap 
too!" 

"But  why  did  he  do  it?" 

"I  forget  now.  Another  time  he  knocked  me  about 
till  I  was  nearly  dead,  and  then  kept  me  without  food 
for  five  hours.  I  was  hardly  alive  when  he  had  finished 
with  me." 

I  was  thunderstruck.  Grandmother  was  twice  as  big 
as  grandfather,  and  it  was  incredible  that  he  should  be 
able  to  get  the  better  of  her  like  this. 

"Is  he  stronger  than  you,  then?"  I  asked. 

"Not  stronger,  but  older.     Besides,  he  is  my  hus- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  85 

band,  he  has  to  answer  for  me  to  God;  but  my  duty  is 
to  suffer  patiently." 

It  was  an  interesting  and  pleasing  sight  to  see  her 
dusting  the  icon  and  cleaning  its  ornamentation ;  it  was 
richly  adorned  with  pearls,  silver  and  colored  gems  in 
the  crown,  and  as  she  took  it  gently  in  her  hands  she 
gazed  at  it  with  a  smile,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  feeling : 

"See  what  a  sweet  face  it  is !"  And  crossing  herself 
and  kissing  it,  she  went  on :  "Dusty  art  thou,  and  be- 
grimed, Mother,  Help  of  Christians,  Joy  of  the  Elect! 
Look,  Lenia,  darling,  how  small  the  writing  is,  and 
what  tiny  characters  they  are ;  and  yet  it  is  all  quite  dis- 
tinct. It  is  called  The  Twelve  Holy-Days,'  and  in 
the  middle  you  see  the  great  Mother  of  God  by  pre- 
destination immaculate ;  and  here  is  written :  'Mourn 
not  for  me,  Mother,  because  I  am  about  to  be  laid  in  the 
grave.'  " 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  played  with  the 
icon  as  earnestly  and  seriously  as  my  Cousin  Ekaterina 
with  her  doll. 

She  often  saw  devils,  sometimes  several  together, 
sometimes  one  alone. 

"One  clear  moonlight  night,  during  the  great  Fast, 
I  was  passing  the  Rudolphovs'  house,  and  looking  up  I 
saw,  on  the  roof,  a  devil  sitting  close  to  the  chimney! 
He  was  all  black,  and  he  was  holding  his  horned  head 
over  the  top  of  the  chimney  and  sniffing  vigorously. 


86  MY  CHILDHOOD 

There  he  sat  sniffing  and  grunting,  the  great,  unwieldy 
creature,  with  his  tail  on  the  roof,  scraping  with  his 
feet  all  the  time.  I  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  at  him 
and  said :  'Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead,  and  His  ene- 
mies are  scattered.'  At  that  he  gave  a  low  howl  and 
slipped  head  over  heels  from  the  roof  to  the  yard — so 
he  was  scattered !  They  must  have  been  cooking  meat 
at  the  Rudolphovs'  that  day,  and  he  was  enjoying  the 
smell  of  it." 

I  laughed  at  her  picture  of  the  devil  flying  head 
over  heels  off  the  roof,  and  she  laughed  too  as  she 
said: 

"They  are  as  fond  of  playing  tricks  as  children. 
One  day  I  was  doing  the  washing  in  the  washhouse  and 
it  was  getting  late,  when  suddenly  the  door  of  the  lit- 
tle room  burst  open  and  in  rushed  lots  of  little  red, 
green  and  black  creatures  like  cockroaches,  and  all 
sizes,  and  spread  themselves  all  over  the  place.  I  flew 
towards  the  door,  but  I  could  not  get  past;  there  I  was 
unable  to  move  hand  or  foot  amongst  a  crowd  of  devils ! 
They  filled  the  whole  place  so  that  I  could  not  turn 
round.  They  crept  about  my  feet,  plucked  at  my  dress, 
and  crowded  round  me  so  that  I  had  not  even  room  to 
cross  myself.  Shaggy,  and  soft,  and  warm,  somewhat 
resembling  cats,  though  they  walked  on  their  hind  legs, 
they  went  round  and  round  me,  peering  into  everything, 
showing  their  teeth  like  mice,  blinking  their  small  green 


MY  CHILDHOOD  87 

eyes,  almost  piercing  me  with  their  horns,  and  sticking 
out  their  little  tails — they  were  like  pigs'  tails.  Oh, 
my  dear !  I  seemed  to  be  going  out  of  my  mind.  And 
did  n't  they  push  me  about  too !  The  candle  nearly 
went  out,  the  water  in  the  copper  became  luke-warm, 
the  washing  was  all  thrown  about  the  floor.  Ah! 
your  very  breath  was  trouble  and  sorrow." 

Closing  my  eyes,  I  could  visualize  the  threshold  of 
the  little  chamber  with  its  gray  cobble-stones,  and  the 
unclean  stream  of  shaggy  creatures  of  diverse  colors 
which  gradually  filled  the  washhouse.  I  could  see 
them  blowing  out  the  candle  and  thrusting  out  their 
impudent  pink  tongues.  It  was  a  picture  both  comical 
and  terrifying. 

Grandmother  was  silent  a  minute,  shaking  her  head, 
before  she  burst  out  again : 

"And  I  saw  some  fiends  too,  one  wintry  night,  when 
it  was  snowing.  I  was  coming  across  the  Dinkov 
Causeway — the  place  where,  if  you  remember,  your 
Uncle  Michael  and  your  Uncle  Jaakov  tried  to  drown 
your  father  in  an  ice-hole — and  I  was  just  going  to  take 
the  lower  path,  when  there  came  the  sounds  of  hissing 
and  hooting,  and  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  team  of  three 
raven-black  horses  tearing  towards  me.  On  the  coach- 
man's place  stood  a  great  fat  devil,  in  a  red  nightcap, 
with  protruding  teeth.  He  was  holding  the  reins,  made 
of  forged  iron  chains,  with  outstretched  arms,  and  as 


88  MY  CHILDHOOD 

there  was  no  way  round,  the  horses  flew  right  over  the 
pond,  and  were  hidden  by  a  cloud  of  snow.  All  those 
sitting  in  the  sledge  behind  were  devils  too;  there  they 
sat,  hissing  and  screaming  and  waving  their  nightcaps. 
In  all,  seven  troikas  like  this  tore  by,  as  if  they  had 
been  fire-engines,  all  with  black  horses,  and  all  carrying 
a  load  of  thoroughbred  devils.  They  pay  visits  to  each 
other,  you  know,  and  drive  about  in  the  night  to  their 
different  festivities.  I  expect  that  was  a  devil's  wed- 
ding that  I  saw." 

One  had  to  believe  grandmother,  because  she  spoke 
so  simply  and  convincingly. 

But  the  best  of  all  her  stories  was  the  one  which  told 
how  Our  Lady  went  about  the  suffering  earth,  and 
how  she  commanded  the  woman-brigand,  or  the 
"Amazon-chief"  Engalichev,  not  to  kill  or  rob  Russian 
people.  And  after  that  came  the  stories  about  Blessed 
Alexei ;  about  Ivan  the  Warrior,  and  Vassili  the  Wise ; 
of  the  Priest  Kozlya,  and  the  beloved  child  of  God;  and 
the  terrible  stories  of  Martha  Posadnitz,  of  Baba 
Ustye  the  robber  chief,  of  Mary  the  sinner  of  Egypt, 
and  of  sorrowing  mothers  of  robber  sons.  The  fairy- 
tales, and  stories  of  old  times,  and  the  poems  which  she 
knew  were  without  number. 

She  feared  no  one — neither  grandfather,  nor  devils, 
nor  any  of  the  powers  of  evil;  but  she  was  terribly 
afraid  of  black  cockroaches,  and  could  feel  their  pres- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  89 

ence  when  they  were  a  long  way  from  her.  Sometimes 
she  would  wake  me  in  the  night  whispering : 

"Oleysha,  dear,  there  is  a  cockroach  crawling  about. 
Do  get  rid  of  it,  for  goodness'  sake." 

Half-asleep,  I  would  light  the  candle  and  creep  about 
on  the  floor  seeking  the  enemy — a  quest  in  which  I  did 
not  always  succeed  at  once. 

"No,  there's  not  a  sign  of  one,"  I  would  say;  but 
lying  quite  still  with  her  head  muffled  up  in  the  bed- 
clothes, she  would  entreat  me  in  a  faint  voice : 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is  one  there !  Do  look  again,  please. 
I  am  sure  there  is  one  about  somewhere." 

And  she  was  never  mistaken.  Sooner  or  later  I 
found  the  cockroach,  at  some  distance  from  the  bed; 
and  throwing  the  blanket  off  her  she  would  breathe  a 
sigh  of  relief  and  smile  as  she  said : 

"Have  you  killed  it?     Thank  God!     Thank  you." 

If  I  did  not  succeed  in  discovering  the  insect,  she 
could  not  go  to  sleep  again,  and  I  could  feel  how  she 
trembled  in  the  silence  of  the  night;  and  I  heard  her 
whisper  breathlessly : 

"It  is  by  the  door.  Now  it  has  crawled  under  the 
trunk." 

"Why  are  you  so  frightened  of  cockroaches'?" 

"I  don't  know  myself,"  she  would  answer,  reasonably 
enough.  "It  is  the  way  the  horrid  black  things  crawl 
about.  God  has  given  a  meaning  to  all  other  vermin : 


90  MY  CHILDHOOD 

woodlice  show  that  the  house  is  damp ;  bugs  mean  that 
the  walls  are  dirty;  lice  foretell  an  illness,  as  every  one 
knows ;  but  these  creatures ! — who  knows  what  powers 
they  possess,  or  what  they  live  on*?" 

One  day  when  she  was  on  her  knees,  conversing 
earnestly  with  God,  grandfather,  throwing  open  the 
door,  shouted  hoarsely : 

"Well,  Mother,  God  has  afflicted  us  again.  We 
are  on  fire." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  cried  grandmother, 
jumping  up  from  the  floor;  and  they  both  rushed  into 
the  large  parlor,  making  a  great  noise  with  their  feet. 
"Eugenia,  take  down  the  icons.  Natalia,  dress  the 
baby." 

Grandmother  gave  her  orders  in  a  stern  voice  of 
authority,  but  all  grandfather  did  was  to  mutter: 
«Ug— h!" 

I  ran  into  the  kitchen.  The  window  looking  on  to 
the  yard  shone  like  gold,  and  yellow  patches  of  light 
appeared  on  the  floor,  and  Uncle  Jaakov,  who  was 
dressing,  trod  on  them  with  his  bare  feet,  and  jumped 
about  as  if  they  had  burned  him,  shrieking : 

"This  is  Mischka's  doing.  He  started  the  fire,  and 
then  went  out." 

"Peace,  cur!"  said  grandmother,  pushing  him  to- 
wards the  door  so  roughly  that  he  nearly  fell. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  91 

Through  the  frost  on  the  window-panes  the  burning 
roof  of  the  workshop  was  visible,  with  the  curling  flames 
pouring  out  from  its  open  door.  It  was  a  still  night, 
and  the  color  of  the  flames  was  not  spoiled  by  any  ad- 
mixture of  smoke;  while  just  above  them  hovered  a 
dark  cloud  which,  however,  did  not  hide  from  our  sight 
the  silver  stream  of  the  Mlethchna  Road.  The  snow 
glittered  with  a  livid  brilliance,  and  the  walls  of  the 
house  tottered  and  shook  from  side  to  side,  as  if  about 
to  hurl  themselves  into  that  burning  corner  of  the  yard 
where  the  flames  disported  themselves  so  gaily  as  they 
poured  through  the  broad  red  cracks  in  the  walls  of  the 
workshop,  dragging  crooked,  red-hot  nails  out  with 
them.  Gold  and  red  ribbons  wound  themselves  about 
the  dark  beams  of  the  roof,  and  soon  enveloped  it  en- 
tirely ;  but  the  slender  chimney-pot  stood  up  straight  in 
the  midst  of  it  all,  belching  forth  clouds  of  smoke.  A 
gentle  crackling  sound  like  the  rustle  of  silk  beat  against 
our  windows,  and  all  the  time  the  flames  were  spread- 
ing till  the  workshop,  adorned  by  them,  as  it  were, 
looked  like  the  iconostasis  in  church,  and  became  more 
and  more  attractive  to  me. 

Throwing  a  heavy  fur  coat  over  my  head  and  thrust- 
ing my  feet  into  the  first  boots  that  came  handy,  I  ran 
out  to  the  porch  and  stood  on  the  steps,  stupefied  and 
blinded  by  the  brilliant  play  of  light,  dazed  by  the 
yells  of  my  grandfather,  and  uncles,  and  Gregory,  and 


92  MY  CHILDHOOD 

alarmed  by  grandmother's  behavior,  for  she  had 
wrapped  an  empty  sack  round  her  head,  enveloped  her 
body  in  a  horse-cloth,  and  was  running  straight  into  the 
flames.  She  disappeared,  crying,  "The  vitriol,  you 
fools!  It  will  explode!" 

"Keep  her  back,  Gregory!"  roared  grandfather. 
"Aie !  she's  done  for— !" 

But  grandmother  reappeared  at  this  moment,  black- 
ened with  smoke,  half -fainting,  bent  almost  double  over 
the  bottle  of  vitriolic  oil  which  she  was  carrying  in  her 
stretched-out  hands. 

"Father,  get  the  horse  out!"  she  cried  hoarsely, 
coughing  and  spluttering,  "and  take  this  thing  off  my 
shoulders.  Can't  you  see  it  is  on  fire*?" 

Gregory  dragged  the  smoldering  horse-cloth  from 
her  shoulders,  and  then,  working  hard  enough  for  two 
men,  went  on  shoveling  large  lumps  of  snow  into  the 
door  of  the  workshop.  My  uncle  jumped  about  him 
with  an  ax  in  his  hands,  while  grandfather  ran  round 
grandmother,  throwing  snow  over  her ;  then  she  put  the 
bottle  into  a  snowdrift,  and  ran  to  the  gate,  where  there 
were  a  great  many  people  gathered  together.  After 
greeting  them,  she  said: 

"Save  the  warehouse,  neighbors !  If  the  fire  fastens 
upon  the  warehouse  and  the  hay-loft,  we  shall  be  burnt 
out;  and  it  will  spread  to  your  premises.  Go  and  pull 


MY  CHILDHOOD  93 

off  the  roof  and  drag  the  hay  into  the  garden! 
Gregory,  why  don't  you  throw  some  of  the  snow  on  top, 
instead  of  throwing  it  all  on  the  ground*?  Now, 
Jaakov,  don't  dawdle  about!  Give  some  axes  and 
spades  to  these  good  folk.  Dear  neighbors,  behave  like 
true  friends,  and  may  God  reward  you !" 

She  was  quite  as  interesting  to  me  as  the  fire.  Illu- 
minated by  those  flames  which  had  so  nearly  devoured 
her,  she  rushed  about  the  yard — a  black  figure,  giving 
assistance  at  all  points,  managing  the  whole  thing,  and 
letting  nothing  escape  her  attention. 

Sharapa  ran  into  the  yard,  rearing  and  nearly  throw- 
ing grandfather  down.  The  light  fell  on  his  large  eyes 
which  shone  expressively;  he  breathed  heavily  as  his 
forefeet  pawed  the  air,  and  grandfather  let  the  reins 
fall,  and  jumping  aside  called  out:  "Catch  hold  of 
him,  Mother!" 

She  threw  herself  almost  under  the  feet  of  the  rear- 
ing horse,  and  stood  in  front  of  him,  with  outstretched 
arms  in  the  form  of  a  cross;  the  animal  neighed  piti- 
fully and  let  himself  be  drawn  towards  her,  swerving 
aside  at  the  flames. 

"Now,  you  are  not  frightened,"  said  grandmother  in 
a  low  voice,  as  he  patted  his  neck  and  grasped  the  reins, 
"Do  you  think  I  would  leave  you  when  you  are  in  such 
a  state*?  Oh,  you  silly  little  mouse !" 


94  MY  CHILDHOOD 

And  the  little  "mouse,"  who  was  twice  as  large  as 
herself,  submissively  went  to  the  gate  with  her,  snuf- 
fling, and  gazing  at  her  red  face. 

Nyanya  Eugenia  had  brought  some  muffled-up 
youngsters,  who  were  bellowing  in  smothered  tones, 
from  the  house. 

"Vassili  Vassilitch,"  she  cried,  "we  can't  find  Alexei 
anywhere !" 

"Go  away !  Go  away !"  answered  grandfather,  wav- 
ing his  hands,  and  I  hid  myself  under  the  stairs  so  that 
Nyanya  should  not  take  me  away. 

The  roof  of  the  workshop  had  fallen  in  by  this  time, 
and  the  stanchions,  smoking,  and  glittering  like  golden 
coal,  stood  out  against  the  sky.  With  a  howl  and  a 
crash  a  green,  blue  and  red  tornado  burst  inside  the 
building,  and  the  flames  threw  themselves  with  a  new 
energy  on  the  yard  and  on  the  people  who  were  gathered 
round  and  throwing  spadefuls  of  snow  on  the  huge  bon- 
fire. 

The  heat  caused  the  vats  to  boil  furiously;  a  thick 
cloud  of  steam  and  smoke  arose,  and  a  strange  odor, 
which  caused  one's  eyes  to  water,  floated  into  the  yard. 
I  crept  out  from  beneath  the  stairs  and  got  under  grand- 
mother's feet. 

"Get  away !"  she  shrieked.  "You  will  get  trampled 
on.  Get  away!" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  95 

At  this  moment  a  man  on  horseback,  with  a  copper 
helmet,  burst  into  the  yard.  His  roan-colored  horse 
was  covered  with  froth,  and  he  raised  a  whip  high  above 
his  head  and  shouted  threateningly : 

"Make  way  there !" 

Bells  rang  out  hurriedly  and  gaily;  it  was  just  as 
beautiful  as  a  festival  day. 

Grandmother  pushed  me  back  towards  the  steps. 

"What  did  I  tell  you ?     Go  away !" 

I  could  not  disobey  her  at  such  a  time,  so  I  went 
back  to  the  kitchen  and  glued  myself  once  more  to  the 
window;  but  I  could  not  see  the  fire  through  that  dense 
mass  of  people — I  could  see  nothing  but  the  gleam  of 
copper  helmets  amongst  the  winter  caps  of  fur. 

In  a  short  time  the  fire  was  got  under,  totally  ex- 
tinguished, and  the  building  submerged.  The  police 
drove  the  onlookers  away,  and  grandmother  came  into 
the  kitchen. 

"Who  is  this"?  Oh,  it  is  you!  Why  are  n't  you  in 
bed?  Frightened,  eh?  There  's  nothing  to  be  fright- 
ened about ;  it  is  all  over  now." 

She  sat  beside  me  in  silence,  shaking  a  little.  The 
return  of  the  quiet  night  with  its  darkness  was  a  relief. 
Presently  grandfather  came  in,  and  standing  in  the 
doorway  said : 

"Mother?" 


96  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Yes?" 

"Were  you  burned?" 

"A  little — nothing  to  speak  of." 

He  lit  a  brimstone  match,  which  lit  up  his  soot-be- 
grimed face,  looked  for  and  found  the  candle  on  the 
table,  and  then  came  over  swiftly  and  sat  beside  grand- 
mother. 

"The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  wash  ourselves,"  she 
said,  for  she  was  covered  with  soot  too,  and  smelt  of 
acrid  smoke. 

"Sometimes,"  said  grandfather,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  "God  is  pleased  to  endue  you  with  great  good- 
sense."  And  stroking  her  shoulder  he  added  with  a 
grin:  "Only  sometimes,  you  know,  just  for  an  hour 
or  so;  but  there  it  is  all  the  same." 

Grandmother  smiled  too,  and  began  to  say  some- 
thing, but  grandfather  stopped  her,  frowning : 

"We  shall  have  to  get  rid  of  Gregory.  All  this 
trouble  has  been  caused  by  his  neglect.  His  working 
days  are  over.  He  is  worn  out.  That  fool  Jaaschka 
is  sitting  on  the  stairs  crying;  you  had  better  go  to 
him." 

She  stood  up  and  went  out,  holding  her  hand  up  to 
her  face  and  blowing  on  her  fingers;  and  grandfather, 
without  looking  at  me,  asked  softly : 

"You  saw  it  all  from  the  beginning  of  the  fire,  did  n't 
you"?  Then  you  saw  how  grandmother  behaved, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  97 

did  n't  you?  And  that  is  an  old  woman,  mind  you ! — 
crushed  and  breaking-up — and  yet  you  see — !  U — 
ugh,  youT 

After  a  long  silence,  during  which  he  sat  huddled 
up,  he  rose  and  snuffed  the  candle,  as  he  asked  me : 

"Were  you  frightened?" 

"No." 

"Quite  right!  There  was  nothing  to  be  frightened 
about." 

Irritably  dragging  his  shirt  from  his  shoulder,  he 
went  to  the  washstand  in  the  corner,  and  I  could  hear 
him  in  the  darkness  stamping  his  feet  as  he  exclaimed : 

"A  fire  is  a  silly  business.  The  person  who  causes 
a  fire  ought  to  be  beaten  in  the  market-place.  He 
must  be  either  a  fool  or  a  thief.  If  that  was  done 
there  would  be  no  more  fires.  Go  away  now,  and  go  to 
bed!  What  are  you  sitting  there  for?" 

I  did  as  he  told  me,  but  sleep  was  denied  to  me  that 
night.  I  had  no  sooner  laid  myself  down  when  an  un- 
earthly howl  greeted  me,  which  seemed  to  come  from 
the  bed.  I  rushed  back  to  the  kitchen,  in  the  middle  of 
which  stood  grandfather,  shirtless,  holding  a  candle 
which  flickered  violently  as  he  stamped  his  feet  on  the 
floor,  crying: 

"Mother !     Jaakov !     What  is  that?" 

I  jumped  on  the  stove  and  hid  myself  in  a  corner, 
and  the  household  was  once  more  in  a  state  of  wild 


98  MY  CHILDHOOD 

commotion;  a  heartrending  howl  beat  against  the  ceil- 
ing and  walls,  increasing  in  sound  every  moment. 

It  was  all  just  the  same  as  it  had  been  during  the 
fire.  Grandfather  and  uncle  ran  about  aimlessly; 
grandmother  shouted  as  she  drove  them  away  from  one 
place  to  another;  Gregory  made  a  great  noise  as  he 
thrust  logs  into  the  stove  and  filled  the  iron  kettle  with 
water.  He  went  about  the  kitchen  bobbing  his  head 
just  like  an  Astrakhan  camel. 

"Heat  the  stove  first,"  said  grandmother  in  a  tone  of 
authority. 

He  rushed  to  do  her  bidding,  and  fell  over  my  legs. 

"Who  is  there*?"  he  cried,  greatly  flustered. 
"Phew!  How  you  frightened  me!  You  are  always 
where  you  ought  not  to  be." 

"What  has  happened?" 

"Aunt  Natalia  has  had  a  little  baby  born  to  her,"  he 
replied  calmly,  jumping  down  to  the  floor. 

I  remembered  that  my  mother  had  not  screamed  like 
that  when  her  little  baby  was  born. 

Having  placed  the  kettle  over  the  fire,  Gregory 
climbed  up  to  me  on  the  stove,  and  drawing  a  long  pipe 
from  his  pocket,  showed  it  to  me. 

"I  am  taking  to  a  pipe  for  the  good  of  my  eyes,"  he 
explained.  "Grandmother  advised  me  to  take  snuff, 
but  I  think  smoking  will  do  me  more  good." 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  stove  with  his  legs  crossed, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  99 

looking  down  at  the  feeble  light  of  the  candle;  his 
ears  and  cheeks  were  smothered  in  soot,  one  side  of  his 
shirt  was  torn,  and  I  could  see  his  ribs — as  broad  as  the 
ribs  of  a  cask.  One  of  his  eyeglasses  was  broken;  al- 
most half  of  the  glass  had  come  out  of  the  frame,  and 
from  the  empty  space  peered  a  red,  moist  eye,  which 
had  the  appearance  of  a  wound. 

Filling  his  pipe  with  coarse-cut  tobacco,  he  listened 
to  the  groans  of  the  travailing  woman,  and  murmured 
disjointedly,  like  a  drunken  man : 

"That  grandmother  of  yours  has  burned  herself  so 
badly  that  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  she  can  attend 
to  the  poor  creature.  Just  hear  how  your  aunt  is  groan- 
ing. You  know,  they  forgot  all  about  her.  She  was 
taken  bad  when  the  fire  first  broke  out.  It  was  fright 
that  did  it.  You  see  what  pain  it  costs  to  bring  chil- 
dren into  the  world,  and  yet  women  are  thought  noth- 
ing of!  But,  mark  my  words — women  ought  to  be 
thought  a  lot  of,  for  they  are  the  mothers — " 

Here  I  dozed,  and  was  awakened  by  a  tumult:  a 
banging  of  doors,  and  the  drunken  cries  of  Uncle 
Michael ;  these  strange  words  floated  to  my  ears : 

"The  royal  doors  must  be  opened — !" 

"Give  her  holy  oil  with  rum,  half  a  glass  of  oil,  half 
a  glass  of  rum,  and  a  tablespoonful  of  soot — " 

Then  Uncle  Michael  kept  asking  like  a  tiresome 
child: 


ioo  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Let  me  have  a  look  at  her !" 

He  sat  on  the  floor  with  his  legs  sprawling,  and 
kept  spitting  straight  in  front  of  him,  and  banging  his 
hands  on  the  floor. 

I  began  to  find  the  stove  unbearably  hot,  so  I  slid 
down,  but  when  I  got  on  a  level  with  uncle  he  seized 
and  held  me  by  the  legs,  and  I  fell  on  the  back  of  my 
head. 

"Fool !"  I  exclaimed. 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  grabbed  me  again,  and 
roared : 

"I  '11  smash  you  against  the  stove — " 

I  escaped  to  a  corner  of  the  best  parlor,  under  the 
image,  and  ran  against  grandfather's  knees;  he  put  me 
aside,  and  gazing  upwards,  went  on  in  a  low  voice : 

"There  is  no  excuse  for  any  of  us — " 

The  image-lamp  burned  brightly  over  his  head,  a 
candle  stood  on  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  the  light  of  a  foggy  winter's  morning  was  already 
peeping  in  at  the  window. 

Presently  he  bent  towards  me,  and  asked : 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

Everything  was  the  matter  with  me — my  head  was 
clammy,  my  body  sorely  weary;  but  I  did  not  like  to 
say  so  because  everything  about  me  was  so  strange. 
Almost  all  the  chairs  in  the  room  were  occupied  by 
strangers;  there  were  a  priest  in  a  lilac-colored  robe, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  101 

a  gray-headed  old  man  with  glasses,  in  a  military  uni- 
form, and  many  other  people  who  all  sat  quite  still  like 
wooden  figures,  or  figures  frozen,  as  it  were,  in  expecta- 
tion of  something,  and  listened  to  the  sound  of  water 
splashing  somewhere  near.  By  the  door  stood  Uncle 
Jaakov,  very  upright,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
"Here!"  said  grandfather  to  him,  "take  this  child  to 
bed." 

My  uncle  beckoned  me  to  follow  him,  and  led  the 
way  on  tiptoe  to  the  door  of  grandmother's  room,  and 
when  I  had  got  into  bed  he  whispered : 

"Your  Aunt  Natalia  is  dead." 

I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  it.  She  had  not  been 
visible  for  a  long  time,  either  in  the  kitchen  or  at 
meals. 

"Where  is  grandmother1?"  I  asked. 

"Down  there,"  he  replied,  waving  his  hand,  and  went 
out  of  the  room,  still  going  softly  on  his  bare  feet. 

I  lay  in  bed  and  looked  about  me.  I  seemed  to  see 
hairy,  gray,  sightless  faces  pressed  against  the  window- 
pane,  and  though  I  knew  quite  well  that  those  were 
grandmother's  clothes  hanging  over  the  box  in  the 
corner,  I  imagined  that  some  living  creature  was  hiding 
there  and  waiting.  I  put  my  head  under  the  pillow, 
leaving  one  eye  uncovered  so  that  I  could  look  at  the 
door,  and  wished  that  I  dared  jump  out  of  bed  and  run 
out  of  the  room.  It  was  very  hot,  and  there  was  a 


102  MY  CHILDHOOD 

heavy,  stifling  odor  which  reminded  me  of  the  night 
when  Tsiganok  died,  and  that  rivulet  of  blood  ran 
along  the  floor. 

Something  in  my  head  or  my  heart  seemed  to  be 
swelling;  everything  that  I  had  seen  in  that  house 
seemed  to  stretch  before  my  mind's  eye,  like  a  train 
of  winter  sledges  in  the  street,  and  to  rise  up  and  crush 
me. 

The  door  opened  very  slowly,  and  grandmother  crept 
into  the  room,  and  closing  the  door  with  her  shoulder, 
came  slowly  forward ;  and  holding  out  her  hand  to  the 
blue  light  of  the  image-lamp,  wailed  softly,  pitifully  as 
a  child: 

"Oh,  my  poor  little  hand!  My  poor  hand  hurts 
me  so !" 


CHAPTER  V 

BEFORE  long  another  nightmare  began.  One  eve- 
ning when  we  had  finished  tea  and  grandfather 
and  I  sat  over  the  Psalter,  while  grandmother  was 
washing  up  the  cups  and  saucers,  Uncle  Jaakov  burst 
into  the  room,  as  dishevelled  as  ever,  and  bearing  a 
strange  resemblance  to  one  of  the  household  brooms. 
Without  greeting  us,  he  tossed  his  cap  into  a  corner 
and  began  speaking  rapidly,  with  excited  gestures. 

"Mischka  is  kicking  up  an  utterly  uncalled-for  row. 
He  had  dinner  with  me,  drank  too  much,  and  began  to 
show  unmistakable  signs  of  being  out  of  his  mind;  he 
broke  up  the  crockery,  tore  up  an  order  which  had  just 
been  completed — it  was  a  woolen  dress — broke  the 
windows,  insulted  me  and  Gregory,  and  now  he  is  com- 
ing here,  threatening  you.  He  keeps  shouting,  'I  '11 
pull  father's  beard  for  him !  I  '11  kill  him !'  so  you 
had  better  look  out." 

Grandfather  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  resting  his  hands 
on  the  table.  He  was  frowning  heavily,  and  his  face 
seemed  to  dry  up,  growing  narrow  and  cruel,  like  a 
hatchet. 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Mother4?"  he  yelled.  "What  do 

103 


104  MY  CHILDHOOD 

you  think  of  it,  eh*?  Our  own  son  coming  to  kill  his 
father!  But  it  is  quite  time;  it  is  quite  time,  my 
children." 

He  went  up  the  room,  straightening  his  shoulders, 
to  the  door,  sharply  snapped  the  heavy  iron  hook, 
which  fastened  it,  into  its  ring,  and  turned  again  to 
Uncle  Jaakov  saying: 

"This  is  all  because  you  want  to  get  hold  of  Var- 
vara's  dowry.  That 's  what  it  is !" 

And  he  laughed  derisively  in  the  face  of  my  uncle, 
who  asked  in  an  offended  tone : 

"What  should  I  want  with  it?" 

"You?     I  know  you!" 

Grandmother  was  silent  as  she  hastily  put  the  cups 
and  saucers  away  in  the  cupboard. 

"Well?"  cried  grandfather,  laughing  bitterly. 
"Very  good !  Thank  you,  my  son.  Mother,  give  this 
fox  a  poker,  or  an  iron  if  you  like.  Now,  Jaakov 
Vassilev,  when  your  brother  breaks  in,  kill  him  before 
my  eyes !" 

My  uncle  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  re- 
tired into  a  corner. 

"Of  course,  if  you  won't  believe  me — " 

"Believe  you?"  cried  grandfather,  stamping  his 
feet.  "No !  I  '11  believe  an  animal — a  dog,  a  hedge- 
hog even — but  I  have  no  faith  in  you.  I  know  you  too 
well.  You  made  him  drunk,  and  then  gave  him  his  in- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  105 

structions.     Very  well!     What  are  you  waiting  for? 
Kill  me  now — him  or  me,  you  can  take  your  choice !" 

Grandmother  whispered  to  me  softly:  "Run  up- 
stairs and  look  out  of  the  window,  and  when  you  see 
Uncle  Michael  coming  along  the  street,  hurry  back  and 
tell  us.  Run  along  now !  Make  haste !" 

A  little  frightened  by  the  threatened  invasion  of  my 
turbulent  uncles,  but  proud  of  the  confidence  placed  in 
me,  I  leaned  out  of  the  window  which  looked  out  upon 
the  broad  road,  now  thickly  coated  with  dust  through 
which  the  lumpy,  rough  cobblestones  were  just  visible. 
The  street  stretched  a  long  way  to  the  left,  and  crossing 
the  causeway  continued  to  Ostrojni  Square,  where, 
firmly  planted  on  the  clay  soil,  stood  a  gray  building 
with  a  tower  at  each  of  its  four  corners — the  old  prison, 
about  which  there  was  a  suggestion  of  melancholy 
beauty.  On  the  right,  about  three  houses  away,  there 
was  an  opening  in  Syenia  Square,  which  was  built  round 
the  yellow  domicile  of  the  prison  officials,  and  on  the 
leaden-colored  fire-tower,  on  the  look-out  gallery 
of  the  tower,  revolved  the  figures  of  the  watchmen, 
looking  like  dogs  on  chains.  The  whole  square  was 
cut  off  from  the  causeway — at  one  end  stood  a  green 
thicket,  and,  more  to  the  right,  lay  the  stagnant  Dinka 
Pond,  into  which,  so  grandmother  used  to  tell  the  story, 
my  uncles  had  thrown  my  father  one  winter,  with  the 
intention  of  drowning  him.  Almost  opposite  our 


106  MY  CHILDHOOD 

windows  was  a  lane  of  small  houses  of  various  colors 
which  led  to  the  dumpy,  squat  church  of  the  "Three 
Apostles."  If  you  looked  straight  at  it  the  roof  ap- 
peared exactly  like  a  boat  turned  upside  down  on  the 
green  waves  of  the  garden.  Defaced  by  the  snow- 
storms of  a  long  winter,  washed  by  the  continuous  rains 
of  autumn,  the  discolored  houses  in  our  street  were 
powdered  with  dust.  They  seemed  to  look  at  each 
other  with  half-closed  eyes,  like  beggars  in  the  church 
porch,  and,  like  me,  they  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some 
one,  and  their  open  windows  had  an  air  of  suspicion. 

There  were  a  few  people  moving  about  the  street 
in  a  leisurely  manner,  like  thoughtful  cockroaches  on  a 
warm  hearth ;  a  suffocating  heat  rose  up  to  me,  and  the 
detestable  odor  of  pie  and  carrots  and  onions  cooking 
forced  itself  upon  me — a  smell  which  always  made 
me  feel  melancholy. 

I  was  very  miserable — ridiculously,  intolerably 
miserable !  My  breast  felt  as  if  it  were  full  of  warm 
lead  which  pressed  from  within  and  exuded  through  my 
ribs.  I  seemed  to  feel  myself  inflating  like  a  bladder, 
and  yet  there  I  was,  compressed  into  that  tiny  room, 
under  a  coffin-shaped  ceiling. 

There  was  Uncle  Michael — peeping  from  the  lane 
round  the  corner  of  the  gray  houses.  He  tried  to  pull 
his  cap  down  over  his  ears,  but  they  stuck  out  all  the 
same.  He  was  wearing  a  brown  pea-jacket  and  high 


MY  CHILDHOOD  107 

boots  which  were  very  dusty;  one  hand  was  in  the 
pocket  of  his  check  trousers,  and  with  the  other  he 
tugged  at  his  beard.  I  could  not  see  his  face,  but  he 
stood  almost  as  if  he  were  prepared  to  dart  across  the 
road  and  seize  grandfather's  house  in  his  rough,  black 
hands.  I  ought  to  have  run  downstairs  to  say  that  he 
had  come,  but  I  could  not  tear  myself  away  from  the 
window,  and  I  waited  till  I  saw  my  uncle  kick  the  dust 
about  over  his  gray  boots  just  as  if  he  were  afraid,  and 
then  cross  the  road.  I  heard  the  door  of  the  wineshop 
creak,  and  its  glass  panels  rattle  as  he  opened  it,  before 
I  ran  downstairs  and  knocked  at  grandfather's  door. 

"Who  is  it*?"  he  asked  gruffly,  making  no  attempt  to 
let  me  in.  "Oh,  it 's  you !  Well,  what  is  it?" 

"He  has  gone  into  the  wineshop !" 

"All  right!     Run  along!" 

"But  I  am  frightened  up  there." 

"I  can't  help  that." 

Again  I  stationed  myself  at  the  window.  It  was 
getting  dark.  The  dust  lay  more  thickly  on  the  road, 
and  looked  almost  black;  yellow  patches  of  light  oozed 
out  from  the  adjacent  windows,  and  from  the  house 
opposite  came  strains  of  music  played  on  several 
stringed  instruments — melancholy  but  pleasing. 
There  was  singing  in  the  tavern,  too;  when  the  door 
opened  the  sound  of  a  feeble,  broken  voice  floated  out 
into  the  street.  I  recognized  it  as  belonging  to  the 


io8  MY  CHILDHOOD 

beggar  cripple,  Nikitoushka — a  bearded  ancient,  with 
one  glass  eye  and  the  other  always  tightly  closed. 
When  the  door  banged  it  sounded  as  if  his  song  had 
been  cut  off  with  an  ax. 

Grandmother  used  to  quite  envy  this  beggar-man. 
After  listening  to  his  songs  she  used  to  say,  with  a  sigh : 

"There  's  talent  for  you !  What  a  lot  of  poetry  he 
knows  by  heart.  It 's  a  gift — that 's  what  it  is !" 

Sometimes  she  invited  him  into  the  yard,  where  he 
sat  on  the  steps  and  sang,  or  told  stories,  while  grand- 
mother sat  beside  him  and  listened,  with  such  exclama- 
tions as: 

"Go  on.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Our  Lady 
was  ever  at  Ryazin*?" 

To  which  he  would  reply  in  a  low  voice  which  car- 
ried conviction  with  it: 

"She  went  everywhere — through  every  province." 

An  elusive,  dreamy  lassitude  seemed  to  float  up  to 
me  from  the  street,  and  place  its  oppressive  weight 
upon  my  heart  and  my  eyes.  I  wished  that  grand- 
mother would  come  to  me — or  even  grandfather.  I 
wondered  what  kind  of  a  man  my  father  had  been  that 
grandfather  and  my  uncles  disliked  him  so,  while 
grandmother  and  Gregory  and  Nyanya  Eugenia  spoke 
so  well  of  him.  And  where  was  my  mother*?  I 
thought  of  her  more  and  more  every  day,  making  her  the 
center  of  all  the  fairy-tales  and  old  legends  related  to 


MY  CHILDHOOD  109 

me  by  grandmother.  The  fact  that  she  did  not  choose 
to  live  with  her  own  family  increased  my  respect  for 
her.  I  imagined  her  living  at  an  inn  on  a  highroad, 
with  robbers  who  waylaid  rich  travelers,  and  shared 
the  spoils  with  beggars.  Or  it  might  be  that  she  was 
living  in  a  forest — in  a  cave,  of  course — with  good 
robbers,  keeping  house  for  them,  and  taking  care  of 
their  stolen  gold.  Or,  again,  she  might  be  wandering 
about  the  earth  reckoning  up  its  treasures,  as  the  robber- 
chieftainess  Engalitchev  went  with  Our  Lady,  who 
would  say  to  her,  as  she  said  to  the  robber-chief  tainess : 

"Do  not  steal,  O  grasping  slave, 
The  gold  and  silver  from  every  cave ; 
Nor  rob  the  earth  of  all  its  treasure 
For  thy  greedy  body's  pleasure." 

To  which  my  mother  would  answer  in  the  words  of 
the  robber-chieftainess : 

"Pardon,  Lady,  Virgin  Blest! 
To  my  sinful  soul  give  rest; 
Not  for  myself  the  gold  I  take, 
I  do  it  for  my  young  son's  sake." 

And   Our   Lady,    good-natured,   like   grandmother, 
would  pardon  her,  and  say: 

"Maroushka,  Maroushka,  of  Tartar  blood, 
For  you,  luckless  one,  'neath  the  Cross  I  stood; 
Continue  your  journey  and  bear  your  load, 
And  scatter  your  tears  o'er  the  toilsome  road. 


no  MY  CHILDHOOD 

But  with  Russian  people  please  do  not  meddle ; 
Waylay  the  Mongol  in  the  woods 
Or  rob  the  Kalmuck  of  his  goods." 

Thinking  of  this  story,  I  lived  in  it,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  dream.  I  was  awakened  by  a  trampling,  a  tumult, 
and  howls  from  below — in  the  sheds  and  in  the  yard. 
I  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  grandfather,  Uncle 
Jaakov,  and  a  man  employed  by  the  tavern-keeper — 
the  funny-looking  bartender,  Melyan — pushing  Uncle 
Michael  through  the  wicker-gate  into  the  street.  He 
hit  out,  but  they  struck  him  on  the  arms,  the  back,  and 
the  neck  with  their  hands,  and  then  kicked  him.  In 
the  end  he  went  flying  headlong  through  the  gate,  and 
landed  in  the  dusty  road.  The  gate  banged,  the  latch 
and  the  bolt  rattled;  all  that  remained  of  the  fray  was 
a  much  ill-used  cap  lying  in  the  gateway,  and  all  was 
quiet. 

After  lying  still  for  a  time,  my  uncle  dragged  him- 
self to  his  feet,  all  torn  and  dishevelled,  and  picking 
up  one  of  the  cobblestones,  hurled  it  at  the  gate  with 
such  a  resounding  clangor  as  might  have  been  caused 
by  a  blow  on  the  bottom  of  a  cask.  Shadowy  people 
crept  out  of  the  tavern,  shouting,  cursing,  gesticulating 
violently ;  heads  were  thrust  out  of  the  windows  of  the 
houses  round;  the  street  was  alive  with  people,  laugh- 
ing and  talking  loudly.  It  was  all  like  a  story  which 
aroused  one's  curiosity,  but  was  at  the  same  time  un- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  111 

pleasant  and  full  of  horrors.  Suddenly  the  whole 
thing  was  obliterated;  the  voices  died  away,  and  every 
one  disappeared  from  my  sight. 

On  a  box  by  the  door  sat  grandmother,  doubled  up, 
motionless,  hardly  breathing.  I  went  and  stood  close 
to  her  and  stroked  her  warm,  soft,  wet  cheeks,  but  she 
did  not  seem  to  feel  my  touch,  as  she  murmured  over 
and  over  again  hoarsely: 

"O  God !  have  You  no  compassion  left  for  me  and 
my  children"?  Lord!  have  mercy — !" 

It  seems  that  grandfather  had  only  lived  in  that 
house  in  Polevoi  Street  for  a  year — from  one  spring  to 
another — yet  during  that  time  it  had  acquired  an  un- 
pleasant notoriety.  Almost  every  Sunday  boys  ran 
about  our  door,  chanting  gleefully: 

"There  's  another  row  going  on  at  the  Kashmirins !" 
Uncle  Michael  generally  put  in  an  appearance  in 
the  evening  and  held  the  house  in  a  state  of  siege  all 
night,  putting  its  occupants  into  a  frenzy  of  fear: 
sometimes  he  was  accompanied  by  two  or  three  assist- 
ants— repulsive-looking  loafers  of  the  lowest  class. 
They  used  to  make  their  way  unseen  from  the  cause- 
way to  the  garden,  and,  once  there,  they  indulged  their 
drunken  whims  to  the  top  of  their  bent,  stripping  the 
raspberry  and  currant  bushes,  and  sometimes  making 


112  MY  CHILDHOOD 

a  raid  on  the  washhouse  and  breaking  everything  in  it 
which  could  be  broken — washing-stools,  benches, 
kettles — smashing  the  stove,  tearing  up  the  flooring, 
and  pulling  down  the  framework  of  the  door. 

Grandfather,  grim  and  mute,  stood  at  the  window 
listening  to  the  noise  made  by  these  destroyers  of  his 
property;  while  grandmother,  whose  form  could  not  be 
descried  in  the  darkness,  ran  about  the  yard,  crying  in  a 
voice  of  entreaty : 

"Mischka!  what  are  you  thinking  of?     Mischka!" 

For  answer,  a  torrent  of  abuse  in  Russian,  hideous 
as  the  ravings  of  a  madman,  was  hurled  at  her  from 
the  garden  by  the  brute,  who  was  obviously  ignorant 
of  the  meaning,  and  insensible  to  the  effect  of  the  words 
which  he  vomited  forth. 

I  knew  that  I  must  not  run  after  grandmother  at  such 
a  time,  and  I  was  afraid  to  be  alone,  so  I  went  down 
to  grandfather's  room;  but  directly  he  saw  me,  he 
cried : 

"Get  out !     Curse  you !" 

I  ran  up  to  the  garret  and  looked  out  on  the  yard 
and  garden  from  the  dormer-window,  trying  to  keep 
grandmother  in  sight.  I  was  afraid  that  they  would 
kill  her,  and  I  screamed,  and  called  out  to  her,  but  she 
did  not  come  to  me ;  only  my  drunken  uncle,  hearing  my 
voice,  abused  my  mother  in  furious  and  obscene  lan- 
guage. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  113 

On  one  of  these  evenings  grandfather  was  unwell, 
and  as  he  uneasily  moved  his  head,  which  was  swathed 
in  a  towel,  upon  his  pillow,  he  lamented  shrilly: 

"For  this  I  have  lived,  and  sinned,  and  heaped  up 
riches!  If  it  were  not  for  the  shame  and  disgrace  of 
it,  I  would  call  in  the  police,  and  let  them  be  taken  be- 
fore the  Governor  to-morrow.  But  look  at  the  dis- 
grace! What  sort  of  parents  are  they  who  bring  the 
law  to  bear  on  their  children1?  Well,  there  's  nothing 
for  you  to  do  but  to  lie  still  under  it,  old  man !" 

He  suddenly  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  went,  stagger- 
ingly, to  the  window. 

Grandmother  caught  his  arm :  "Where  are  you  go- 
ing?" she  asked. 

"Light  up !"  he  said,  breathing  hard. 

When  grandmother  had  lit  the  candle,  he  took  the 
candlestick  from  her,  and  holding  it  close  to  him,  as  a 
soldier  would  hold  a  gun,  he  shouted  from  the  window 
in  loud,  mocking  tones : 

"Hi,  Mischka!  You  burglar!  You  mangy,  mad 
cur!" 

Instantly  the  top  pane  of  glass  was  shattered  to 
atoms,  and  half  a  brick  fell  on  the  table  beside  grand- 
mother. 

"Why  don't  you  aim  straight?"  shrieked  grand- 
father hysterically. 

Grandmother  just  took  him  in  her  arms,  as  she  would 


114  MY  CHILDHOOD 

have  taken  me,  and  carried  him  back  to  bed,  saying  over 
and  over  again  in  a  tone  of  terror : 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?  What  are  you  think- 
ing of?  May  God  forgive  you !  I  can  see  that  Siberia 
will  be  the  end  of  this  for  him.  But  in  his  madness 
he  can't  realize  what  Siberia  would  mean." 

Grandfather  moved  his  legs  angrily,  and  sobbing 
dryly,  said  in  a  choked  voice : 

"Let  him  kill  me— !" 

From  outside  came  howls,  and  the  sound  of 
trampling  feet,  and  a  scraping  at  walls.  I  snatched 
the  brick  from  the  table  and  ran  to  the  window  with 
it,  but  grandmother  seized  me  in  time,  and  hurling  it 
into  a  corner,  hissed : 

"You  little  devil !" 

Another  time  my  uncle  came  armed  with  a  thick 
stake,  and  broke  into  the  vestibule  of  the  house  from 
the  yard  by  breaking  in  the  door  as  he  stood  on  the  top 
of  the  dark  flight  of  steps.  However,  grandfather  was 
waiting  for  him  on  the  other  side,  stick  in  hand,  with 
two  of  his  tenants  armed  with  clubs,  and  the  tall  wife 
of  the  innkeeper  holding  a  rolling-pin  in  readiness. 
Grandmother  came  softly  behind  them,  murmuring  in 
tones  of  earnest  entreaty: 

"Let  me  go  to  him!  Let  me  have  one  word  with 
him!" 

Grandfather  was  standing  with  one  foot  thrust  for- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  115 

ward  like  the  man  with  the  spear  in  the  picture  called 
"The  Bear  Hunt."  When  grandmother  ran  to  him,  he 
said  nothing,  but  pushed  her  away  by  a  movement  of 
his  elbow  and  his  foot.  All  four  were  standing  in 
formidable  readiness.  Hanging  on  the  wall  above 
them  was  a  lantern  which  cast  an  unflattering,  spas- 
modic light  on  their  countenances.  I  saw  all  this  from 
the  top  staircase,  and  I  was  wishing  all  the  time  that  I 
could  fetch  grandmother  to  be  with  me  up  there. 

My  uncle  had  carried  out  the  operation  of  breaking 
in  the  door  with  vigor  and  success.  It  had  slipped 
out  of  its  place  and  was  ready  to  spring  out  of  the  upper 
hinge — the  lower  one  was  already  broken  away  and 
jangled  discordantly. 

Grandfather  spoke  to  his  companions-in-arms  in  a 
voice  which  repeated  the  same  jarring  sound: 

"Go  for  his  arms  and  legs,  but  let  his  silly  head 
alone,  please." 

In  the  wall,  at  the  side  of  the  door,  there  was  a 
little  window,  through  which  you  could  just  put  your 
head.  Uncle  had  smashed  the  panes,  and  it  looked, 
with  the  splinters  sticking  out  all  round  it,  like  some 
one's  black  eye.  To  this  window  grandmother  rushed, 
and  putting  her  hand  through  into  the  yard,  waved  it 
warningly  as  she  cried : 

"Mischka!  For  Christ's  sake  go  away;  they  will 
tear  you  limb  from  limb.  Do  go  away !" 


u6  MY  CHILDHOOD 

He  struck  at  her  with  the  stake  he  was  holding.  A 
broad  object  could  be  seen  distinctly  to  pass  the  win- 
dow and  fall  upon  her  hand,  and  following  on  this 
grandmother  herself  fell;  but  even  as  she  lay  on  her 
back  she  managed  to  call  out: 

"Mischka!     Mi— i— schka!     Run!" 

"Mother,  where  are  you?"  bawled  grandfather  in  a 
terrific  voice. 

The  door  gave  way,  and  framed  in  the  black  lintel 
stood  my  uncle ;  but  a  moment  later  he  had  been  hurled, 
like  a  lump  of  mud  off  a  spade,  down  the  steps. 

The  wife  of  the  innkeeper  carried  grandmother  to 
grandfather's  room,  to  which  he  soon  followed  her, 
asking  morosely : 

"Any  bones  broken?" 

"Och!  I  should  think  every  one  of  them  was 
broken,"  replied  grandmother,  keeping  her  eyes  closed. 
"What  have  you  done  with  him'?  What  have  you 
done  with  him1?" 

"Have  some  sense!"  exclaimed  grandfather  sternly. 
"Do  you  think  I  am  a  wild  beast"?  He  is  lying  in  the 
cellar  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  I  've  given  him  a  good 
drenching  with  water.  I  admit  it  was  a  bad  thing  to 
do;  but  who  caused  the  whole  trouble?" 

Grandmother  groaned. 

"I  have  sent  for  the  bone-setter.  Try  and  bear  it 
till  he  comes,"  said  grandfather,  sitting  beside  her  on 


MY  CHILDHOOD  117 

the  bed.  "They  are  ruining  us,  Mother — and  in  the 
shortest  time  possible." 

"Give  them  what  they  ask  for  then." 

"What  about  Varvara?" 

They  discussed  the  matter  for  a  long  time — grand- 
mother quietly  and  pitifully,  and  grandfather  in  loud 
and  angry  tones. 

Then  a  little,  humpbacked  old  woman  came,  with  an 
enormous  mouth,  extending  from  ear  to  ear;  her  lower 
jaw  trembled,  her  mouth  hung  open  like  the  mouth  of 
a  fish,  and  a  pointed  nose  peeped  over  her  upper  lip. 
Her  eyes  were  not  visible.  She  hardly  moved  her 
feet  as  her  crutches  scraped  along  the  floor,  and  she 
carried  in  her  hand  a  bundle  which  rattled. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  she  had  brought  death  to 
grandmother,  and  darting  at  her  I  yelled  with  all  my 
force : 

"Go  away!" 

Grandfather  seized  me,  not  too  gently,  and,  looking 
very  cross,  carried  me  to  the  attic. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  the  spring  came  my  uncles  separated — 
Jaakov  remained  in  the  town  and  Michael 
established  himself  by  the  river,  while  grandfather 
bought  a  large,  interesting  house  in  Polevoi  Street,  with 
a  tavern  on  the  ground-floor,  comfortable  little  rooms 
under  the  roof,  and  a  garden  running  down  to  the  cause- 
way which  simply  bristled  with  leafless  willow 
branches. 

"Canes  for  you !"  grandfather  said,  merrily  winking 
at  me,  as  after  looking  at  the  garden,  I  accompanied 
him  on  the  soft,  slushy  road.  "I  shall  begin  teaching 
you  to  read  and  write  soon,  so  they  will  come  in 
handy." 

The  house  was  packed  full  of  lodgers,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  top  floor,  where  grandfather  had  a  room 
for  himself  and  for  the  reception  of  visitors,  and  the 
attic,  in  which  grandmother  and  I  had  established  our- 
selves. Its  window  gave  on  to  the  street,  and  one 
could  see,  by  leaning  over  the  sill,  in  the  evenings  and 
on  holidays,  drunken  men  crawling  out  of  the  tavern 

and  staggering  up  the  road,  shouting  and  tumbling 

118 


MY  CHILDHOOD  119 

about.  Sometimes  they  were  thrown  out  into  the  road, 
just  as  if  they  had  been  sacks,  and  then  they  would  try 
to  make  their  way  into  the  tavern  again ;  the  door  would 
bang,  and  creak,  and  the  hinges  would  squeak,  and  then 
a  fight  would  begin.  It  was  very  interesting  to  look 
down  on  all  this. 

Every  morning  grandfather  went  to  the  workshops 
of  his  sons  to  help  them  to  get  settled,  and  every  eve- 
ning he  would  return  tired,  depressed,  and  cross. 

Grandmother  cooked,  and  sewed,  and  pottered  about 
in  the  kitchen  and  flower  gardens,  revolving  about  some- 
thing or  other  all  day  long,  like  a  gigantic  top  set 
spinning  by  an  invisible  whip ;  taking  snuff  continually, 
and  sneezing,  and  wiping  her  perspiring  face  as  she 
said: 

"Good  luck  to  you,  good  old  world!  Well  now, 
Oleysha,  my  darling,  isn't  this  a  nice  quiet  life  now*? 
This  is  thy  doing,  Queen  of  Heaven — that  everything 
has  turned  out  so  well !" 

But  her  idea  of  a  quiet  life  was  not  mine.  From 
morning  till  night  the  other  occupants  of  the  house  ran 
in  and  out  and  up  and  down  tumultuously,  thus  demon- 
strating their  neighborliness — always  in  a  hurry,  yet 
always  late;  always  complaining,  and  always  ready  to 
call  out:  "Akulina  Ivanovna!" 

And  Akulina  Ivanovna,  invariably  amiable,  and  im- 
partially attentive  to  them  all,  would  help  herself  to 


120  MY  CHILDHOOD 

snuff  and  carefully  wipe  her  nose  and  fingers  on  a  red 
check  handkerchief  before  replying: 

"To  get  rid  of  lice,  my  friend,  you  must  wash  your- 
self oftener  and  take  baths  of  mint-vapor;  but  if  the 
lice  are  under  the  skin,  you  should  take  a  tablespoon- 
ful  of  the  purest  goose-grease,  a  teaspoonful  of 
sulphur,  three  drops  of  quicksilver — stir  all  these 
ingredients  together  seven  times  with  a  potsherd  in  an 
earthenware  vessel,  and  use  the  mixture  as  an  ointment. 
But  remember  that  if  you  stir  it  with  a  wooden  or  a 
bone  spoon  the  mercury  will  be  wasted,  and  that  if  you 
put  a  brass  or  silver  spoon  into  it,  it  will  do  you  harm 
to  use  it." 

Sometimes,  after  consideration,  she  would  say : 

"You  had  better  go  to  Asaph,  the  chemist  at  Pet- 
chyor,  my  good  woman,  for  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how 
to  advise  you." 

She  acted  as  midwife,  and  as  peacemaker  in  family 
quarrels  and  disputes;  she  would  cure  infantile  mala- 
dies, and  recite  the  "Dream  of  Our  Lady,"  so  that  the 
women  might  learn  it  by  heart  "for  luck,"  and  was  al- 
ways ready  to  give  advice  in  matters  of  housekeeping. 

"The  cucumber  itself  will  tell  you  when  pickling 
time  comes ;  when  it  falls  to  the  ground  and  gives  forth 
a  curious  odor,  then  is  the  time  to  pluck  it.  Kvass 
must  be  roughly  dealt  with,  and  it  does  not  like  much 
sweetness,  so  prepare  it  with  raisins,  to  which  you  may 


MY  CHILDHOOD  121 

add  one  zolotnik  to  every  two  and  a  half  gallons.  .  .  . 
You  can  make  curds  in  different  ways.  There  's  the 
Donski  flavor,  and  the  Gimpanski,  and  the  Caucasian." 

All  day  long  I  hung  about  her  in  the  garden  and 
in  the  yard,  and  accompanied  her  to  neighbors'  houses, 
where  she  would  sit  for  hours  drinking  tea  and  telling 
all  sorts  of  stories.  I  had  grown  to  be  a  part  of  her, 
as  it  were,  and  at  this  period  of  my  life  I  do  not  remem- 
ber anything  so  distinctly  as  that  energetic  old  woman, 
who  was  never  weary  of  doing  good. 

Sometimes  my  mother  appeared  on  the  scene  from 
somewhere  or  other,  for  a  short  time.  Lofty  and 
severe,  she  looked  upon  us  all  with  her  cold  gray  eyes, 
which  were  like  the  winter  sun,  and  soon  vanished 
again,  leaving  us  nothing  to  remember  her  by. 

Once  I  asked  grandmother:     "Are  you  a  witch*?" 

"Well!  What  idea  will  you  get  into  your  head 
next?"  she  laughed.  But  she  added  in  a  thoughtful 
tone:  "How  could  I  be  a  witch?  Witchcraft  is  a 
difficult  science.  Why,  I  can't  read  and  write  even; 
I  don't  even  know  my  alphabet.  Grandfather — he  's 
a  regular  cormorant  for  learning,  but  Our  Lady  never 
made  me  a  scholar." 

Then  she  presented  still  another  phase  of  her  life  to 
me  as  she  went  on: 

"I  was  a  little  orphan  like  you,  you  know.  My 
mother  was  just  a  poor  peasant  woman — and  a  cripple. 


122  MY  CHILDHOOD 

She  was  little  more  than  a  child  when  a  gentleman  took 
advantage  of  her.  In  fear  of  what  was  to  come,  she 
threw  herself  out  of  the  window  one  night,  and  broke 
her  ribs  and  hurt  her  shoulder  so  much  that  her  right 
hand,  which  she  needed  most,  was  withered  .  .  .  and 
a  noted  lace-worker,  too!  Well,  of  course  her  em- 
ployers did  not  want  her  after  that,  and  they  dismissed 
her — to  get  her  living  as  well  as  she  could.  How  can 
one  earn  bread  without  hands?  So  she  had  to  beg,  to 
live  on  the  charity  of  others ;  but  in  those  times  people 
were  richer  and  kinder  .  .  .  the  carpenters  of  Balak- 
hana,  as  well  as  the  lace-workers,  were  famous,  and  all 
the  people  were  for  show. 

"Sometimes  my  mother  and  I  stayed  in  the  town  for 
the  autumn  and  winter,  but  as  soon  as  the  Archangel 
Gabriel  waved  his  sword  and  drove  away  the  winter, 
and  clothed  the  earth  with  spring,  we  started  on  our 
travels  again,  going  whither  our  eyes  led  us.  To 
Mourome  we  went,  and  to  Urievitz,  and  by  the  upper 
Volga,  and  by  the  quiet  Oka.  It  was  good  to  wander 
about  the  world  in  the  spring  and  summer,  when  all  the 
earth  was  smiling  and  the  grass  was  like  velvet;  and 
the  Holy  Mother  of  God  scattered  flowers  over  the 
fields,  and  everything  seemed  to  bring  joy  to  one,  and 
speak  straight  to  one's  heart.  And  sometimes,  when  we 
were  on  the  hills,  my  mother,  closing  her  blue  eyes, 
would  begin  to  sing  in  a  voice  which,  though  not  power- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  123 

ful,  was  as  clear  as  a  bell;  and  listening  to  her,  every- 
thing about  us  seemed  to  fall  into  a  breathless  sleep. 
Ah!  God  knows  it  was  good  to  be  alive  in  those 
days! 

"But  by  the  time  that  I  was  nine  years  old,  my 
mother  began  to  feel  that  she  would  be  blamed  if  she 
took  me  about  begging  with  her  any  longer;  in  fact, 
she  began  to  be  ashamed  of  the  life  we  were  leading, 
and  so  she  settled  at  Balakhana,  and  went  about  the 
streets  begging  from  house  to  house — taking  up  a  posi- 
tion in  the  church  porch  on  Sundays  and  holidays, 
while  I  stayed  at  home  and  learned  to  make  lace.  I 
was  an  apt  pupil,  because  I  was  so  anxious  to  help  my 
mother;  but  sometimes  I  did  not  seem  to  get  on  at  all, 
and  then  I  used  to  cry.  But  in  two  years  I  had  learned 
the  business,  mind  you,  small  as  I  was,  and  the  fame  of 
of  it  went  through  the  town.  When  people  wanted 
really  good  lace,  they  came  to  us  at  once : 

"  'Now,  Akulina,  make  your  bobbins  fly !' ' 

"And  I  was  very  happy  .  .  .  those  were  great  days 
for  me.  But  of  course  it  was  mother's  work,  not  mine ; 
for  though  she  had  only  one  hand  and  that  one  useless, 
it  was  she  who  taught  me  how  to  work.  And  a  good 
teacher  is  worth  more  than  ten  workers. 

"Well,  I  began  to  be  proud.  'Now,  my  little 
mother,'  I  said,  'you  must  give  up  begging,  for  I  can 
earn  enough  to  keep  us  both.' 


124  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"  'Nothing  of  the  sort !'  she  replied.  'What  you  earn 
shall  be  set  aside  for  your  dowry.' 

"And  not  long  after  this,  grandfather  came  on  the 
scene.  A  wonderful  lad  he  was — only  twenty-two,  and 
already  a  freewater-man.  His  mother  had  had  her  eye 
on  me  for  some  time.  She  saw  that  I  was  a  clever 
worker,  and  being  only  a  beggar's  daughter,  I  suppose 
she  thought  I  should  be  easy  to  manage ;  but — !  Well, 
she  was  a  crafty,  malignant  woman,  but  we  won't  rake 
up  all  that.  .  .  .  Besides,  why  should  we  remember  bad 
people?  God  sees  them;  He  sees  all  they  do;  and  the 
devils  love  them." 

And  she  laughed  heartily,  wrinkling  her  nose  comic- 
ally, while  her  eyes,  shining  pensively,  seemed  to  caress 
me,  more  eloquent  even  than  her  words. 

I  remember  one  quiet  evening  having  tea  with  grand- 
mother in  grandfather's  room.  He  was  not  well,  and 
was  sitting  on  his  bed  undressed,  with  a  large  towel 
wrapped  round  his  shoulders,  sweating  profusely  and 
breathing  quickly  and  heavily.  His  green  eyes  were 
dim,  his  face  puffed  and  livid;  his  small,  pointed  ears 
also  were  quite  purple,  and  his  hand  shook  pitifully  as 
he  stretched  it  out  to  take  his  cup  of  tea.  His  manner 
was  gentle  too;  he  was  quite  unlike  himself. 

"Why  have  n't  you  given  me  any  sugar*?"  he  asked 
pettishly,  like  a  spoiled  child. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  125 

"I  have  put  honey  in  it ;  it  is  better  for  you,"  replied 
grandmother  kindly  but  firmly. 

Drawing  in  his  breath  and  making  a  sound  in  his 
throat  like  the  quacking  of  a  duck,  he  swallowed  the  hot 
tea  at  a  gulp. 

"I  shall  die  this  time,"  he  said;  "see  if  I  don't!" 

"Don't  you  worry !     I  will  take  care  of  you." 

"That 's  all  very  well ;  but  if  I  die  now  I  might  as 
well  have  never  lived.  Everything  will  fall  to 
pieces." 

"Now,  don't  you  talk.     Lie  quiet." 

He  lay  silent  for  a  minute  with  closed  eyes,  twisting 
his  thin  beard  round  his  fingers,  and  smacking  his  dis- 
colored lips  together;  but  suddenly  he  shook  himself  as 
if  some  one  had  run  a  pin  into  him,  and  began  to  utter 
his  thoughts  aloud : 

"Jaaschka  and  Mischka  ought  to  get  married  again 
as  soon  as  possible.  New  ties  would  very  likely  give 
them  a  fresh  hold  on  life.  What  do  you  think?" 
Then  he  began  to  search  his  memory  for  the  names  of 
eligible  brides  in  the  town. 

But  grandmother  kept  silence  as  she  drank  cup  after 
cup  of  tea,  and  I  sat  at  the  window  looking  at  the  eve- 
ning sky  over  the  town  as  it  grew  redder  and  redder  and 
cast  a  crimson  reflection  upon  the  windows  of  the 
opposite  houses.  As  a  punishment  for  some  mis- 
demeanor, grandfather  had  forbidden  me  to  go  out  in 


126  MY  CHILDHOOD 

the  garden  or  the  yard.  Round  the  birch  trees  in  the 
garden  circled  beetles,  making  a  tinkling  sound  with 
their  wings;  a  cooper  was  working  in  a  neighboring 
yard,  and  not  far  away  some  one  was  sharpening  knives. 
The  voices  of  children  who  were  hidden  by  the  thick 
bushes  rose  up  from  the  garden  and  the  causeway.  It 
all  seemed  to  draw  me  and  hold  me,  while  the  melan- 
choly of  eventide  flowed  into  my  heart. 

Suddenly  grandfather  produced  a  brand-new  book 
from  somewhere,  banged  it  loudly  on  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  and  called  me  in  brisk  tones. 

"Now,  yon  young  rascal,  come  here!  Sit  down! 
Now  do  you  see  these  letters'?  This  is  'Az.'  Say  after 
me  'Az,'  'Buki,'  'Viedi.'  What  is  this  one?" 

"Buki." 

"Right !     And  what  is  this?" 

"Viedi." 

"Wrong!     It  is  'Az.' 

"Look  at  these— 'Glagol,'  'Dobro,'  'Yest.'  WTiat 
is  this  one?" 

"Dobro." 

"Right!     And  this  one?" 

"Glagol." 

"Good!     And  this  one?" 

"Az." 

"You  ought  to  be  lying  still,  you  know,  Father,"  put 
in  grandmother. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  127 

"Oh,  don't  bother!  This  is  just  die  dung  for  me;  it 
takes  my  thoughts  off  myself.  Go  on,  Lexei!*> 

He  put  his  hot,  moist  aim  round  my  neck,  and 
ticked  off  the  letters  on  my  shoulder  with  his  fingp*^ 
He  smelled  strongly  of  vinegar,  to  which  an  odor  of 
baked  onion  was  added,  and  I  felt  nearly  suffocated; 
but  he  flew  into  a  rage  and  growled  and  roared  in  my 
ear: 

"<Zemlya,'  <Loodi'!" 

The  words  were  familiar  to  me,  but  the  Slav  char- 
acters did  not  correspond  with  them.  "Zemlya"  (Z) 
looked  like  a  worm;  4iGlagolM  (G)  like  round-shoul- 
dered Gregory;  "Ya"  resembled  grandmother  and  me 
standing  together;  and  grandfather  seemed  to  have 
something  in  common  with  all  the  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet. 

He  took  me  through  it  over  and  over  again,  some- 
times asking  me  the  names  of  the  letters  in  order,  some- 
times "dodging"  ;  and  his  hot  temper  must  have  been 
catching,  for  I  also  began  to  perspire,  and  to  shout  at 
the  top  of  my  voice  —  at  which  he  was  greatly  amused. 
He  clutched  his  chest  as  he  coughed  violently  and  tossed 
the  book  aside,  wheezing: 

"Do  you  hear  how  he  bawls,  Mother?  What  are 
you  making  that  noise  for,  you  little  Astrakhan  maniac? 


It  was  you  that  made  the  noise. 


128  MY  CHILDHOOD 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  then  to  look  at  him  and  at 
grandmother,  who,  with  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  was  watching  us  and  laugh- 
ing gently  as  she  said : 

"You  will  burst  yourselves  with  laughing  if  you  are 
not  careful." 

"I  am  irritable  because  I  am  unwell,"  grandfather 
explained  in  a  friendly  tone.  "But  what 's  the  matter 
with  you,  eh*?" 

"Our  poor  Natalia  was  mistaken,"  he  said  to  grand- 
mother, shaking  his  damp  head,  "when  she  said  he  had 
no  memory.  He  has  a  memory,  thank  God!  It  is 
like  a  horse's  memory.  Get  on  with  it,  snub-nose !" 

At  last  he  playfully  pushed  me  off  the  bed. 

"That  will  do.  You  can  take  the  book,  and  to- 
morrow you  will  say  the  whole  alphabet  to  me  with- 
out a  mistake,  and  I  will  give  you  five  kopecks." 

When  I  held  out  my  hand  for  the  book,  he  drew 
me  to  him  and  said  gruffly : 

"That  mother  of  yours  does  not  care  what  becomes 
of  you,  my  lad." 

Grandmother  started. 

"Oh,  Father,  why  do  you  say  such  things'?" 

"I  ought  not  to  have  said  it — my  feelings  got  the 
better  of  me.  Oh,  what  a  girl  that  is  for  going 
astray !" 

He  pushed  me  from  him  roughly. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  129 

"Run  along  now!  You  can  go  out,  but  not  into 
the  street;  don't  you  dare  to  do  that.  Go  to  the  yard 
or  the  garden." 

The  garden  had  special  attractions  for  me.  As  soon 
as  I  showed  myself  on  the  hillock  there,  the  boys  in 
the  causeway  started  to  throw  stones  at  me,  and  I  re- 
turned the  charge  with  a  will. 

"Here  comes  the  ninny,"  they  would  yell  as  soon 
as  they  saw  me,  arming  themselves  hastily.  "Let 's 
skin  him !" 

As  I  did  not  know  what  they  meant  by  "ninny," 
the  nickname  did  not  offend  me;  but  I  liked  to  feel 
that  I  was  one  alone  fighting  against  the  lot  of  them, 
especially  when  a  well-aimed  stone  sent  the  enemy 
flying  to  shelter  amongst  the  bushes.  We  engaged 
in  these  battles  without  malice,  and  they  generally 
ended  without  any  one  being  hurt. 

I  learned  to  read  and  write  easily.  Grandmother 
bestowed  more  and  more  attention  on  me,  and  whip- 
pings became  rarer  and  rarer — although  in  my  opinion 
I  deserved  them  more  than  ever  before,  for  the 
older  and  more  vigorous  I  grew  the  more  often  I  broke 
grandfather's  rules,  and  disobeyed  his  commands; 
yet  he  did  no  more  than  scold  me,  or  shake  his  fist 
at  me.  I  began  to  think,  if  you  please,  that  he  must 
have  beaten  me  without  cause  in  the  past,  and  I  told 
him  so. 


130  MY  CHILDHOOD 

He  lightly  tilted  my  chin  and  raised  my  face 
towards  him,  blinking  as  he  drawled: 

"Wha— a— a— t?" 

And  half-laughing,  he  added : 

"You  heretic!  How  can  you  possibly  know  how 
many  whippings  you  need?  Who  should  know  if 
not  I?  There!  get  along  with  you." 

But  he  had  no  sooner  said  this  than  he  caught  me 
by  the  shoulder  and  asked: 

"Which  are  you  now,  I  wonder — crafty  or  simple*?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know!  Well,  I  will  tell  you  this 
much — be  crafty;  it  pays!  Simple-mindedness  is 
nothing  but  foolishness.  Sheep  are  simple-minded, 
remember  that!  That  will  do.  Run  away-!" 

Before  long  I  was  able  to  spell  out  the  Psalms. 
Our  usual  time  for  this  was  after  the  evening  tea, 
when  I  had  to  read  one  Psalm. 

"B-1-e-s-s,  Bless;  e-d,  ed;  Blessed,"  I  read,  guiding 
the  pointer  across  the  page.  "Blessed  is  the  man — 
Does  that  mean  Uncle  Jaakov?"  I  asked,  to  relieve 
the  tedium. 

"I'll  box  your  ears;  that  will  teach  you  who  it  is 
that  is  blessed,"  replied  grandfather,  snorting  angrily; 
but  I  felt  that  his  anger  was  only  assumed,  because 
he  thought  it  was  the  right  thing  to  be  angry. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  131 

And  I  was  not  mistaken;  in  less  than  a  minute  it 
was  plain  that  he  had  forgotten  all  about  me  as  he 
muttered : 

"Yes,  yes !  King  David  showed  himself  to  be  very 
spiteful — in  sport,  and  in  his  songs,  and  in  the  Ab- 
salom affair.  Ah!  Maker  of  Songs,  Master  of  Lan- 
guage, and  Jester.  That  is  what  you  were !" 

I  left  off  reading  to  look  at  his  frowning,  wonder- 
ing face.  His  eyes,  blinking  slightly,  seemed  to  look 
through  me,  and  a  warm,  melancholy  brightness  shone 
from  them ;  but  I  knew  that  before  long  his  usual  harsh 
expression  would  return  to  them.  He  drummed  on 
the  table  spasmodically  with  his  thin  fingers ;  his  stained 
nails  shone,  and  his  golden  eyebrows  moved  up  and 
down. 

"Grandfather!" 

"Eh?5 

"Tell  me  a  story." 

"Get  on  with  your  reading,  you  lazy  clown!"  he 
said  querulously,  rubbing  his  eyes  just  as  if  he  had 
been  awakened  from  sleep.  "You  like  stories,  but  you 
don't  care  for  the  Psalms !" 

I  rather  suspected  that  he,  too,  liked  stories  better 
than  the  Psalter,  which  he  knew  almost  by  heart,  for 
he  had  made  a  vow  to  read  it  through  every  night 
before  going  to  bed,  which  he  did  in  a  sort  of  chant, 
just  as  the  deacons  recite  the  breviary  in  church. 


132  MY  CHILDHOOD 

At  my  earnest  entreaty,  the  old  man,  who  was  grow- 
ing softer  every  day,  gave  in  to  me. 

"Very  well,  then!  You  will  always  have  the 
Psalter  with  you,  but  God  will  be  calling  me  to  judg- 
ment before  long." 

So,  reclining  against  the  upholstered  back  of  the 
old  armchair,  throwing  back  his  head  and  gazing  at 
the  ceiling,  he  quietly  and  thoughtfully  began  telling 
me  about  old  times,  and  about  his  father.  Once  rob- 
bers had  come  to  Balakhana,  to  rob  Zaev,  the  merchant, 
and  grandfather's  father  rushed  to  the  belfry  to  sound 
the  alarm;  but  the  robbers  came  up  after  him,  felled 
him  with  their  swords,  and  threw  him  down  from  the 
tower. 

"But  I  was  an  infant  at  the  time,  so  of  course  I  do 
not  remember  anything  about  the  affair.  The  first 
person  I  remember  is  a  Frenchman;  that  was  when  I 
was  twelve  years  old — exactly  twelve.  Three  batches 
of  prisoners  were  driven  into  Balakhana — all  small, 
wizened  people ;  some  of  them  dressed  worse  than  beg- 
gars, and  others  so  cold  that  they  could  hardly  stand 
by  themselves.  The  peasants  would  have  beaten 
them  to  death,  but  the  escort  prevented  that  and  drove 
them  away;  and  there  was  no  more  trouble  after  that. 
We  got  used  to  the  Frenchmen,  who  showed  themselves 
to  be  skilful  and  sagacious;  merry  enough  too  .  .  . 


MY  CHILDHOOD  133 

sometimes  they  sang  songs.  Gentlemen  used  to  come 
out  from  Nijni  in  troikas  to  examine  the  prisoners; 
some  of  them  abused  the  Frenchmen  and  shook  their 
fists  at  them,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  strike  them, 
while  others  spoke  kindly  to  them  in  their  own  tongue, 
gave  them  money,  and  showed  them  great  cordiality. 
One  old  gentleman  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and 
wept,  and  said  that  that  villain  Bonaparte  had  ruined 
the  French.  There,  you  see !  He  was  a  Russian,  and 
a  gentleman,  and  he  had  a  good  heart — he  pitied  those 
foreigners." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  keeping  his  eyes  closed, 
and  smoothing  his  hair  with  his  hands;  then  he  went 
on,  recalling  the  past  with  great  precision. 

"Winter  had  cast  its  spell  over  the  streets,  the 
peasants'  huts  were  frostbound,  and  the  Frenchmen 
used  sometimes  to  run  to  our  mother's  house  and  stand 
under  the  windows — she  used  to  make  little  loaves  to 
sell — and  tap  on  the  glass,  shouting  and  jumping 
about  as  they  asked  for  hot  bread.  Mother  would  not 
have  them  in  our  cottage,  but  she  threw  them  the 
loaves  from  the  window;  and  all  hot  as  they  were, 
they  snatched  them  up  and  thrust  them  into  their 
breasts,  against  their  bare  skin.  How  they  bore  the 
heat  I  cannot  imagine!  Many  of  them  died  of  cold, 
for  they  came  from  a  warm  country,  and  were  not  ac- 


134  MY  CHILDHOOD 

customed  to  frost.  Two  of  them  lived  in  our  wash- 
house,  in  the  kitchen  garden — an  officer,  with  his  or- 
derly, Miron. 

"The  officer  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  his  bones 
coming  through  his  skin,  and  he  used  to  go  about 
wrapped  in  a  woman's  cloak  which  reached  to  his 
knees.  He  was  very  amiable,  but  a  drunkard,  and 
my  mother  used  to  brew  beer  on  the  quiet  and  sell  it 
to  him.  When  he  had  been  drinking  he  used  to  sing. 
When  he  had  learned  to  speak  our  language  he  used 
to  air  his  views — 'Your  country  is  not  white  at  all,  it 
is  black — and  bad!'  He  spoke  very  imperfectly,  but 
we  could  understand  him,  and  what  he  said  was  quite 
true.  The  upper  banks  of  the  Volga  are  not  pleasing, 
but  farther  south  the  earth  is  warmer,  and  on  the  Cas- 
pian Sea  snow  is  never  even  seen.  One  can  believe 
that,  for  there  is  no  mention  of  either  snow  or  winter 
in  the  Gospels,  or  in  the  Acts,  or  in  the  Psalms,  as  far 
as  I  remember  .  .  .  and  the  place  where  Christ  lived 
.  .  .  Well,  as  soon  as  we  have  finished  the  Psalms  we 
will  read  the  Gospels  together." 

He  fell  into  another  silence,  just  as  if  he  had  dropped 
off  to  sleep.  His  thoughts  were  far  away,  and  his 
eyes,  as  they  glanced  sideways  out  of  the  window, 
looked  small  and  sharp. 

"Tell  me  some  more,"  I  said,  as  a  gentle  reminder 
of  my  presence. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  135 

He  started,  and  then  began  again. 

"Well — we  were  talking  about  French  people. 
They  are  human  beings  like  ourselves,  after  all,  not 
worse,  or  more  sinful.  Sometimes  they  used  to  call 
out  to  my  mother,  'Madame!  Madame!' — that  means 
'my  lady,'  'my  mistress' — and  she  would  put  flour — 
five  poods  of  it — into  their  sacks.  Her  strength  was 
extraordinary  for  a  woman;  she  could  lift  me  up  by 
the  hair  quite  easily  until  I  was  twenty,  and  even  at 
that  age  I  was  no  light  weight.  Well,  this  orderly, 
Miron,  loved  horses;  he  used  to  go  into  the  yard  and 
make  signs  for  them  to  give  him  a  horse  to  groom.  At 
first  there  was  trouble  about  it — there  were  disputes  and 
enmity — but  in  the  end  the  peasants  used  to  call  him 
'Hi,  Miron!'  and  he  used  to  laugh  and  nod  his  head, 
and  run  to  them.  He  was  sandy,  almost  red-haired, 
with  a  large  nose  and  thick  lips.  He  knew  all  about 
horses,  and  treated  their  maladies  with  wonderful  suc- 
cess; later  on  he  became  a  veterinary  surgeon  at  Nijni, 
but  he  went  out  of  his  mind  and  was  killed  in  a  fire. 
Towards  the  spring  the  officer  began  to  show  signs  of 
breaking  up,  and  passed  quietly  away,  one  day  in  early 
spring,  while  he  was  sitting  at  the  window  of  the  out- 
house— just  sitting  and  thinking,  with  drooping  head. 

"That  is  how  his  end  came.  I  was  very  grieved 
about  it.  I  cried  a  little,  even,  on  the  quiet.  He  was 
so  gentle.  He  used  to  pull  my  ears,  and  talk  to  me 


136  MY  CHILDHOOD 

so  kindly  in  his  own  tongue.  I  could  not  understand 
him,  but  I  liked  to  hear  him — human  kindness  is  not 
to  be  bought  in  any  market.  He  began  to  teach  me 
his  language,  but  my  mother  forbade  it,  and  even  went 
so  far  as  to  send  me  to  the  priest,  who  prescribed  a 
beating  for  me,  and  went  himself  to  make  a  complaint 
to  the  officer.  In  those  days,  my  lad,  we  were  treated 
very  harshly.  You  have  not  experienced  anything 
like  it  yet.  .  .  .  What  you  have  had  to  put  up  with 
is  nothing  to  it,  and  don't  you  forget  it!  .  .  .  Take 
my  own  case,  for  example.  ...  I  had  to  go  through 
so  much — " 

Darkness  began  to  fall.  Grandfather  seemed  to 
grow  curiously  large  in  the  twilight,  and  his  eyes 
gleamed  like  those  of  a  cat.  On  most  subjects  he 
spoke  quietly,  carefully,  and  thoughtfully,  but  when 
he  talked  about  himself  his  words  came  quickly  and 
his  tone  was  passionate  and  boastful,  and  I  did  not 
like  to  hear  him;  nor  did  I  relish  his  frequent  and 
peremptory  command : 

"Remember  what  I  am  telling  you  now !  Take  care 
you  don't  forget  this !" 

He  told  me  of  many  things  which  I  had  no  desire 
to  remember,  but  which,  without  any  command  from 
him,  I  involuntarily  retained  in  my  memory,  to  cause 
me  a  morbid  sickness  of  heart. 

He  never  told  fictitious  stories,  but  always  related 


MY  CHILDHOOD  137 

events  which  had  really  happened;  and  I  also  noticed 
that  he  hated  to  be  questioned,  which  prompted  me 
to  ask  persistently : 

"Who  are  the  best — the  French  or  the  Russians?" 
"How  can  I  tell?  I  never  saw  a  Frenchman  at 
home,"  he  growled  angrily.  "A  Pole  cat  is  all  right 
in  its  own  hole,"  he  added. 
"But  are  the  Russians  good1?" 
"In  many  respects  they  are,  but  they  were  better 
when  the  landlords  ruled.  We  are  all  at  sixes  and 
sevens  now;  people  can't  even  get  a  living.  The 
gentlefolk,  of  course,  are  to  blame,  because  they  have 
more  intelligence  to  back  them  up;  but  that  can't  be 
said  of  all  of  them,  but  only  of  a  few  good  ones  who 
have  already  been  proved.  As  for  the  others — most 
of  them  are  as  foolish  as  mice;  they  will  take  any- 
thing you  like  to  give  them.  We  have  plenty  of  nut 
shells  amongst  us,  but  the  kernels  are  missing;  only 
nut  shells,  the  kernels  have  been  devoured.  There  's 
a  lesson  for  you,  man !  We  ought  to  have  learned  it, 
our  wits  ought  to  have  been  sharpened  by  now;  but 
we  are  not  keen  enough  yet." 

"Are  Russians  stronger  than  other  people?" 
"We  have  some  very  strong  people  amongst  us ;  but 
it  is  not  strength  which  is  so  important,  but  dexterity. 
As  far  as  sheer  strength  goes,  the  horse  is  our  supe- 
rior." 


138  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"But  why  did  the  French  make  war  on  us?" 

"Well,  war  is  the  Emperor's  affair.  We  can't  ex- 
pect to  understand  about  it." 

But  to  my  question:  "What  sort  of  a  man  was 
Bonaparte*?"  grandfather  replied  in  a  tone  of  retro- 
spection : 

"He  was  a  wicked  man.  He  wanted  to  make  war 
on  the  whole  world,  and  after  that  he  wanted  to  make 
us  all  equal — without  rulers,  or  masters;  every  one  to 
be  equal,  without  distinction  of  class,  under  the  same 
rules,  professing  the  same  religion,  so  that  the  only 
difference  between  one  person  and  another  would  be 
their  names.  It  was  all  nonsense,  of  course.  Lob- 
sters are  the  only  creatures  which  cannot  be  distin- 
guished one  from  the  other  .  .  .  but  fish  are  divided 
into  classes.  The  sturgeon  will  not  associate  with  the 
sheat-fish,  and  the  sterlet  refuses  to  make  a  friend  of 
the  herring.  There  have  been  Bonapartes  amongst  us ; 
there  was  Razin  (Stepan  Timotheev),  and  Pygatch 
(Emilian  Ivanov) — but  I  will  tell  you  about  them 
another  time." 

Sometimes  he  would  remain  silent  for  a  long  time, 
gazing  at  me  with  rolling  eyes,  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
me  before,  which  was  not  at  all  pleasant.  But  he  never 
spoke  to  me  of  my  father  or  my  mother.  Now  and 
again  grandmother  would  enter  noiselessly  during  these 
conversations,  and  taking  a  seat  in  the  corner,  would 


MY  CHILDHOOD  139 

remain  there  for  a  long  time  silent  and  invisible.  Then 
she  would  ask  suddenly  in  her  caressing  voice : 

"Do  you  remember,  Father,  how  lovely  it  was  when 
we  went  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Mouron?  What  year 
would  that  be  now*?" 

After  pondering,  grandfather  would  answer  care- 
fully: 

"I  can't  say  exactly,  but  it  was  before  the  cholera. 
It  was  the  year  we  caught  those  escaped  convicts  in 
the  woods." 

"True,  true!  We  were  still  frightened  of 
them—" 

"That's  right!" 

I  asked  what  escaped  convicts  were,  and  why  they 
were  running  about  the  woods;  and  grandfather  rather 
reluctantly  explained. 

"They  are  simply  men  who  have  run  away  from 
prison — from  the  work  they  have  been  set  to  do." 

"How  did  you  catch  them1?" 

"How  did  we  catch  them?  Why,  like  little  boys 
play  hide-and-seek — some  run  away  and  the  others  look 
for  them  and  catch  them.  When  they  were  caught 
they  were  thrashed,  their  nostrils  were  slit,  and  they 
were  branded  on  the  forehead  as  a  sign  that  they  were 
convicts." 

"But  why?" 

"Ah!  that  is  the  question — and  one  I  can't  answer. 


140  MY  CHILDHOOD 

As  to  which  is  in  the  wrong — the  one  who  runs  away 
or  the  one  who  pursues  him — that  also  is  a  mystery !" 

"And  do  you  remember,  Father,"  said  grandmother, 
"after  the  great  fire,  how  we — ?" 

Grandfather,  who  put  accuracy  before  everything 
else,  asked  grimly: 

"What  great  fire*?" 

When  they  went  over  the  past  like  this,  they  forgot 
all  about  me.  Their  voices  and  their  words  mingled 
so  softly  and  so  harmoniously,  that  it  sounded  some- 
times as  if  they  were  singing  melancholy  songs  about 
illnesses  and  fires,  about  massacred  people  and  sudden 
deaths,  about  clever  rogues,  and  religious  maniacs,  and 
harsh  landlords. 

"What  a  lot  we  have  lived  through!  What  a  lot 
we  have  seen !"  murmured  grandfather  softly. 

"We  have  n't  had  such  a  bad  life,  have  we*?"  said 
grandmother.  "Do  you  remember  how  well  the  spring 
began,  after  Varia  was  born?" 

"That  was  in  the  year  '48,  during  the  Hungarian 
Campaign ;  and  the  day  after  the  christening  they  drove 
out  her  godfather,  Tikhon — " 

"And  he  disappeared,"  sighed  grandmother. 

"Yes;  and  from  that  time  God's  blessings  have 
seemed  to  flow  off  our  house  like  water  off  a  duck's 
back.  Take  Varvara,  for  instance — " 

"Now,  Father,  that  will  do!" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  141 

"What  do  you  mean— That  will  do'?'  he  asked, 
scowling  at  her  angrily.  "Our  children  have  turned 
out  badly,  whichever  way  you  look  at  them.  What 
has  become  of  the  vigor  of  our  youth?  We  thought 
we  were  storing  it  up  for  ourselves  in  our  children, 
as  one  might  pack  something  away  carefully  in  a  bas- 
ket ;  when,  lo  and  behold,  God  changes  it  in  our  hands 
into  a  riddle  without  an  answer!" 

He  ran  about  the  room,  uttering  cries  as  if  he  had 
burned  himself,  and  groaning  as  if  he  were  ill;  then 
turning  on  grandmother  he  began  to  abuse  his  children, 
shaking  his  small,  withered  fist  at  her  threateningly 
as  he  cried: 

"And  it  is  all  your  fault  for  giving  in  to  them,  and 
for  taking  their  part,  you  old  hag !" 

His  grief  and  excitement  culminated  in  a  tearful 
howl  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  floor  before  the  icon, 
and  beating  his  withered,  hollow  breast  with  all  his 
force,  cried: 

"Lord,  have  I  sinned  more  than  others'?  Why 
then—?" 

And  he  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  his  eyes, 
wet  with  tears,  glittered  with  resentment  and  ani- 
mosity. 

Grandmother,  without  speaking,  crossed  herself  as 
she  sat  in  her  dark  corner,  and  then,  approaching  him 
cautiously,  said: 


142  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Now,  why  are  you  fretting  like  this4?  God  knows 
what  He  is  doing.  You  say  that  other  people's  chil- 
dren are  better  than  ours,  but  I  assure  you,  Father, 
that  you  will  find  the  same  thing  everywhere — quar- 
rels, and  bickerings,  and  disturbances.  All  parents 
wash  away  their  sins  with  their  tears;  you  are  not 
the  only  one." 

Sometimes  these  words  would  pacify  him,  and  he 
would  begin  to  get  ready  for  bed;  then  grandmother 
and  I  would  steal  away  to  our  attic. 

But  once  when  she  approached  him  with  soothing 
speech,  he  turned  on  her  swiftly,  and  with  all  his  force 
dealt  her  a  blow  in  the  face  with  his  fist. 

Grandmother  reeled,  and  almost  lost  her  balance, 
but  she  managed  to  steady  herself,  and  putting  her 
hand  to  her  lips,  said  quietly:  "Fool!"  And  she  spit 
blood  at  his  feet ;  but  he  only  gave  two  prolonged  howls 
and  raised  both  hands  to  her. 

"Go  away,  or  I  will  kill  you !" 

"Fool!"  she  repeated  as  she  was  leaving  the  room. 

Grandfather  rushed  at  her,  but,  with  haste,  she 
stepped  over  the  threshold  and  banged  the  door  in  his 
face. 

"Old  hag!"  hissed  grandfather,  whose  face  had  be- 
come livid,  as  he  clung  to  the  door-post,  clawing  it 
viciously. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  couch,  more  dead  than  alive, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  143 

hardly  able  to  believe  my  eyes.  This  was  the  first 
time  he  had  struck  grandmother  in  my  presence,  and 
I  was  overwhelmed  with  disgust  at  this  new  aspect 
of  his  character — at  this  revelation  of  a  trait  which  I 
found  unforgivable,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  being  suf- 
focated. He  stayed  where  he  was,  hanging  on  to  the 
door-post,  his  face  becoming  gray  and  shriveled  up 
as  if  it  were  covered  with  ashes. 

Suddenly  he  moved  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  knelt 
down,  and  bent  forward,  resting  his  hands  on  the  floor; 
but  he  straightened  himself  almost  directly,  and  beat 
his  breast. 

"And  now,  O  Lord—!" 

I  slipped  off  the  warm  tiles  of  the  stove-couch, 
and  crept  out  of  the  room,  as  carefully  as  if  I  were 
treading  on  ice.  I  found  grandmother  upstairs,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  room,  and  rinsing  her  mouth  at 
intervals. 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

She  went  into  the  corner,  spit  out  some  water  into 
the  hand-basin,  and  replied  coolly: 

"Nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about.  My  teeth  are  all 
right;  it  is  only  my  lips  that  are  bruised." 

"Why  did  he  do  it?' 

Glancing  out  of  the  window  she  said : 

"He  gets  into  a  temper.  It  is  hard  for  him  in  his 
old  age.  Everything  seems  to  turn  out  badly.  Now 


144  MY  CHILDHOOD 

you  go  to  bed,  say  your  prayers,  and  don't  think  any 
more  about  this." 

I  began  to  ask  some  more  questions;  but  with  a 
severity  quite  unusual  in  her,  she  cried: 

"What  did  I  say  to  you?  Go  to  bed  at  once!  I 
never  heard  of  such  disobedience !" 

She  sat  at  the  window,  sucking  her  lip  and  spitting 
frequently  into  her  handkerchief,  and  I  undressed, 
looking  at  her.  I  could  see  the  stars  shining  above  her 
black  head  through  the  blue,  square  window.  In  the 
street  all  was  quiet,  and  the  room  was  in  darkness. 
When  I  was  in  bed  she  came  over  to  me  and  softly 
stroking  my  head,  she  said : 

"Sleep  well!  I  shall  go  down  to  him.  Don't  be 
anxious  about  me,  sweetheart.  It  was  my  own  fault, 
you  know.  Now  go  to  sleep !" 

She  kissed  me  and  went  away;  but  an  overwhelm- 
ing sadness  swept  over  me.  I  jumped  out  of  the  wide, 
soft,  warm  bed,  and  going  to  the  window,  gazed  down 
upon  the  empty  street,  petrified  by  grief. 


CHAPTER  VH 

1WAS  not  long  in  grasping  the  fact  that  there  was 
one  God  for  grandfather  and  another  for  grand- 
mother. The  frequency  with  which  this  difference 
was  brought  to  my  notice  made  it  impossible  to  ignore 
it. 

Sometimes  grandmother  woke  up  in  the  morning 
and  sat  a  long  while  on  the  bed  combing  her  wonder- 
ful hair.  Holding  her  head  firmly,  she  would  draw 
the  comb  with  its  jagged  teeth  through  every  thread 
of  that  black,  silky  mane,  whispering  the  while,  not 
to  wake  me: 

"Bother  you!  The  devil  take  you  for  sticking  to- 
gether like  this !" 

When  she  had  thus  taken  all  the  tangles  out,  she 
quickly  wove  it  into  a  thick  plait,  washed  in  a  hurry, 
with  many  angry  tossings  of  her  head,  and  without 
washing  away  the  signs  of  irritation  from  her  large 
face,  which  was  creased  by  sleep,  she  placed  herself 
before  the  icon  and  began  her  real  morning  ablutions, 
by  which  her  whole  being  was  instantly  refreshed. 

She  straightened  her  crooked  back,  and  raising  her 

145 


146  MY  CHILDHOOD 

head,  gazed  upon  the  round  face  of  Our  Lady  of  Kazan, 
and  after  crossing  herself  reverently,  said  in  a  loud, 
fierce  whisper: 

"Most  Glorious  Virgin!  Take  me  under  thy  pro- 
tection this  day,  dear  Mother." 

Having  made  a  deep  obeisance,  she  straightened 
her  back  with  difficulty,  and  then  went  on  whispering 
ardently,  and  with  deep  feeling: 

"Source  of  our  Joy!  Stainless  Beauty!  Apple 
tree  in  bloom !" 

Every  morning  she  seemed  to  find  fresh  words  of 
praise;  and  for  that  reason  I  used  to  listen  to  her 
prayers  with  strained  attention. 

"Dear  Heart,  so  pure,  so  heavenly!  My  Defense 
and  my  Refuge!  Golden  Sun!  Mother  of  God! 
Guard  me  from  temptation;  grant  that  I  may  do  no 
one  harm,  and  may  not  be  offended  by  what  others 
do  to  me  thoughtlessly." 

With  her  dark  eyes  smiling,  and  a  general  air  of 
rejuvenation  about  her,  she  crossed  herself  again,  with 
that  slow  and  ponderous  movement  of  her  hand. 

"Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  on  me,  a 
sinner,  for  Thy  Mother's  sake!" 

Her  prayers  were  always  non-liturgical,  full  of  sin- 
cere praise,  and  very  simple. 

She  did  not  pray  long  in  the  mornings  because  she 
had  to  get  the  samovar  ready,  for  grandfather  kept  no 


MY  CHILDHOOD  147 

servants,  and  if  the  tea  was  not  made  to  the  moment, 
he  used  to  give  her  a  long  and  furious  scolding. 

Sometimes  he  was  up  before  her,  and  would  come 
up  to  the  attic.  Finding  her  at  prayer,  he  would  stand 
for  some  minutes  listening  to  her,  contemptuously  curl- 
ing his  thin,  dark  lips,  and  when  he  was  drinking  his 
tea,  he  would  growl: 

"How  often  have  I  taught  you  how  to  say  your 
prayers,  blockhead.  But  you  are  always  mumbling 
some  nonsense,  you  heretic!  I  can't  think  why  God 
puts  up  with  you." 

"He  understands,"  grandmother  would  reply  con- 
fidently, "what  we  don't  say  to  Him.  He  looks  into 
everything." 

"You  cursed  dullard!  U — u — ugh,  you!"  was  all 
he  said  to  this. 

Her  God  was  with  her  all  day;  she  even  spoke  to 
the  animals  about  Him.  Evidently  this  God,  with 
willing  submission,  made  Himself  subject  to  all  crea- 
tures— to  men,  dogs,  bees,  and  even  the  grass  of  the 
field;  and  He  was  impartially  kind  and  accessible  to 
every  one  on  earth. 

Once  the  petted  cat  belonging  to  the  innkeeper's 
wife — an  artful,  pretty,  coaxing  creature,  smoke-col- 
ored with  golden  eyes — caught  a  starling  in  the  garden. 
Grandmother  took  away  the  nearly  exhausted  bird  and 
punished  the  cat,  crying: 


148  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Have  you  no  fear  of  God,  you  spiteful  wretch*?" 

The  wife  of  the  innkeeper  and  the  porter  laughed 
at  these  words,  but  she  said  to  them  angrily: 

"Do  you  think  that  animals  don't  understand  about 
God?  All  creatures  understand  about  Him  better 
than  you  do,  you  heartless  things !" 

When  she  harnessed  Sharapa,  who  was  growing  fat 
and  melancholy,  she  used  to  hold  a  conversation  with 
him. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  miserable,  toiler  of  God1? 
Why?  You  are  getting  old,  my  dear,  that's  what 
it  is."  And  the  horse  would  sigh  and  toss  his  head. 

And  yet  she  did  not  utter  the  name  of  God  as  fre- 
quently as  grandfather  did.  Her  God  was  quite  com- 
prehensible to  me,  and  I  knew  that  I  must  not  tell 
lies  in  His  presence;  I  should  be  ashamed  to  do  so. 
The  thought  of  Him  produced  such  an  invincible  feel- 
ing of  shame,  that  I  never  lied  to  grandmother.  It 
would  be  simply  impossible  to  hide  anything  from  this 
good  God ;  in  fact,  I  had  not  even  a  wish  to  do  so. 

One  day  the  innkeeper's  wife  quarreled  with  grand- 
father and  abused  him,  and  also  grandmother,  who  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  quarrel;  nevertheless  she  abused 
her  bitterly,  and  even  threw  a  carrot  at  her. 

"You  are  a  fool,  my  good  woman,"  said  grand- 
mother very  quietly;  but  I  felt  the  insult  keenly,  and 
resolved  to  be  revenged  on  the  spiteful  creature. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  149 

For  a  long  time  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  as 
to  the  best  way  to  punish  this  sandy-haired,  fat  woman, 
with  two  chins  and  no  eyes  to  speak  of.  From  my 
own  experience  of  feuds  between  people  living  to- 
gether, I  knew  that  they  avenged  themselves  on  one 
another  by  cutting  off  the  tails  of  their  enemy's  cat, 
by  chasing  his  dogs,  by  killing  his  cocks  and  hens,  by 
creeping  into  his  cellar  in  the  night  and  pouring  kero- 
sene over  the  cabbages  and  cucumbers  in  the  tubs,  and 
letting  the  kvass  run  out  of  the  barrels;  but  nothing 
of  this  kind  appealed  to  me.  I  wanted  something  less 
crude,  and  more  terrifying. 

At  last  I  had  an  idea.  I  lay  in  wait  for  the  inn- 
keeper's wife,  and  as  soon  as  she  went  down  to  the 
cellar,  I  shut  the  trap  door  on  her,  fastened  it,  danced 
a  jig  on  it,  threw  the  key  on  to  the  roof,  and  rushed 
into  the  kitchen  where  grandmother  was  busy  cook- 
ing. At  first  she  could  not  understand  why  I  was  in 
such  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  but  when  she  had  grasped  the 
cause,  she  slapped  me — on  that  part  of  my  anatomy 
provided  for  the  purpose,  dragged  me  out  to  the  yard, 
and  sent  me  up  to  the  roof  to  find  the  key.  I  gave  it 
to  her  with  reluctance,  astonished  at  her  asking  for  it, 
and  ran  away  to  a  corner  of  the  yard,  whence  I  could 
see  how  she  set  the  captive  free,  and  how  they  laughed 
together  in  a  friendly  way  as  they  crossed  the 
yard. 


150  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"I  '11  pay  you  for  this !"  threatened  the  innkeeper's 
wife,  shaking  her  plump  fist  at  me;  but  there  was  a 
good-natured  smile  on  her  eyeless  face. 

Grandmother  dragged  me  back  to  the  kitchen  by 
the  collar.  "Why  did  you  do  that*?"  she  asked. 

"Because  she  threw  a  carrot  at  you." 

"That  means  that  you  did  it  for  me*?  Very  well! 
This  is  what  I  will  do  for  you — I  will  horsewhip  you 
and  put  you  amongst  the  mice  under  the  oven.  A 
nice  sort  of  protector  you  are!  'Look  at  a  bubble 
and  it  will  burst  directly.'  If  I  were  to  tell  grand- 
father he  would  skin  you.  Go  up  to  the  attic  and 
learn  your  lesson." 

She  would  not  speak  to  me  for  the  rest  of  the  day, 
but  before  she  said  her  prayers  that  night  she  sat  on 
the  bed  and  uttered  these  memorable  words  in  a  very 
impressive  tone: 

"Now,  Lenka,  my  darling,  you  must  keep  your- 
self from  meddling  with  the  doings  of  grown-up  per- 
sons. Grown-up  people  are  given  responsibilities  and 
they  have  to  answer  for  them  to  God;  but  it  is  not 
so  with  you  yet;  you  live  by  a  child's  conscience.  Wait 
till  God  takes  possession  of  your  heart,  and  shows  you 
the  work  you  are  to  do,  and  the  way  you  are  to  take. 
Do  you  understand*?  It  is  no  business  of  yours  to  de- 
cide who  is  to  blame  in  any  matter.  God  judges,  and 
punishes;  that  is  for  Him,  not  for  us." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  151 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  while  she  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff;  then,  half-closing  her  right  eye,  she  added: 

"Why,  God  Himself  does  not  always  know  where 
the  fault  lies." 

"Doesn't  God  know  everything?"  I  asked  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"If  He  knew  everything,  a  lot  of  things  that  are 
done  would  not  be  done.     It  is  as  if  He,  the  Father,  . 
looks  and  looks  from  Heaven  at  the  earth,  and  sees 
how  often  we  weep,  how  often  we  sob,  and  says: 
'My  people,  my  dear  people,  how  sorry  I  am  for  you !'  " 

She  was  crying  herself  as  she  spoke;  and  drying 
her  wet  cheeks,  she  went  into  the  corner  to  pray. 

From  that  time  her  God  became  still  closer  and  still 
more  comprehensible  to  me. 

Grandfather,  in  teaching  me,  also  said  that  God 
was  a  Being — Omnipresent,  Omniscient,  All-seeing, 
the  kind  Helper  of  people  in  all  their  affairs ;  but  he  did 
not  pray  like  grandmother.  In  the  morning,  before 
going  to  stand  before  the  icon,  he  took  a  long  time 
washing  himself;  then,  when  he  was  fully  dressed,  he 
carefully  combed  his  sandy  hair,  brushed  his  beard, 
and  looking  at  himself  in  the  mirror,  saw  that  his  shirt 
sat  well,  and  tucked  his  black  cravat  into  his  waistcoat 
— after  which  he  advanced  cautiously,  almost  stealth- 
ily, to  the  icon.  He  always  stood  on  one  particular 
board  of  the  parquet  floor,  and  with  an  expression  in 


152  MY  CHILDHOOD 

his  eyes  which  made  them  look  like  the  eyes  of  a  horse, 
he  stood  in  silence  for  a  minute,  with  bowed  head,  and 
arms  held  straight  down  by  his  sides  in  soldier  fashion; 
then,  upright,  and  slender  as  a  nail,  he  began  impres- 
sively : 

"In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and 
of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

After  these  words  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  the 
room  became  extraordinarily  quiet;  the  very  flies 
seemed  to  buzz  cautiously. 

There  he  stood,  with  his  head  thrown  back,  his 
eyebrows  raised  and  bristling,  his  golden  beard  stick- 
ing out  horizontally,  and  recited  the  prayers,  in  a  firm 
tone,  as  if  he  were  repeating  a  lesson,  and  with  a  voice 
which  was  very  distinct  and  very  imperious. 

"It  will  be  useless  when  the  Judge  comes,  and  every 
action  is  laid  bare — " 

Striking  himself  lightly  on  the  breast,  he  prayed 
fervently: 

"To  Thee  alone  can  sinners  come.  Oh,  turn  Thy 
face  away  from  my  misdeeds." 

He  recited  the  "I  believe,"  using  the  prescribed 
words  only;  and  all  the  while  his  right  leg  quivered, 
as  if  it  were  noiselessly  keeping  time  with  his  prayers, 
and  his  whole  form,  straining  towards  the  icon,  seemed 
to  become  taller,  leaner,  and  drier — so  clean  he  was, 
so  neat,  and  so  persistent  in  his  demands. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  153 

"Heavenly  Physician,  heal  my  soul  of  its  long-lived 
passions.  To  thee,  Holy  Virgin,  I  cry  from  my  heart; 
to  thee  I  offer  myself  with  fervor." 

And  with  his  green  eyes  full  of  tears  he  wailed 
loudly: 

"Impute  to  me,  my  God,  faith  instead  of  works,  and 
be  not  mindful  of  deeds  which  can  by  no  means  justify 


me!" 


Here  he  crossed  himself  frequently  at  intervals, 
tossing  his  head  as  if  he  were  about  to  butt  at  some- 
thing, and  his  voice  became  squeaky  and  cracked. 
Later,  when  I  happened  to  enter  a  synagogue,  I  realized 
that  grandfather  prayed  like  a  Jew. 

By  this  time  the  samovar  would  have  been  snort- 
ing on  the  table  for  some  minutes,  and  a  hot  smell  of 
rye-cakes  would  be  floating  through  the  room.  Grand- 
mother, frowning,  strolled  about,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
floor;  the  sun  looked  cheerfully  in  at  the  window  from 
the  garden,  the  dew  glistened  like  pearls  on  the  trees, 
the  morning  air  was  deliciously  perfumed  by  the  smell 
of  dill,  and  currant-bushes,  and  ripening  apples,  but 
grandfather  went  on  with  his  prayers — quavering  and 
squeaking. 

"Extinguish  in  me  the  flame  of  passion,  for  I  am 
in  misery  and  accursed." 

I  knew  all  the  morning  prayers  by  heart,  and  even 
in  my  dreams  I  could  say  what  was  to  come  next,  and 


154  MY  CHILDHOOD 

I  followed  with  intense  interest  to  hear  if  he  made 
a  mistake  or  missed  out  a  word — which  very  seldom 
happened;  but  when  it  did,  it  aroused  a  feeling  of 
malicious  glee  in  me. 

When  he  had  finished  his  prayers,  grandfather  used 
to  say  "Good  morning!"  to  grandmother  and  me,  and 
we  returned  his  greeting  and  sat  down  to  table.  Then 
I  used  to  say  to  him: 

"You  left  out  a  word  this  morning." 

"Not  really*?"  grandfather  would  say  with  an  un- 
easy air  of  incredulity. 

"Yes.  You  should  have  said,  'This,  my  Faith, 
reigns  supreme,'  but  you  did  not  say  'reigns.' ' 

"There  now!"  he  would  exclaim,  much  perturbed, 
and  blinking  guiltily. 

Afterwards  he  would  take  a  cruel  revenge  on  me  for 
pointing  out  his  mistake  to  him;  but  for  the  moment, 
seeing  how  disturbed  he  was,  I  was  able  to  enjoy  my 
triumph. 

One  day  grandmother  said  to  him  jokingly: 

"God  must  get  tired  of  listening  to  your  prayers, 
Father.  You  do  nothing  but  insist  on  the  same  things 
over  and  over  again." 

"What 's  that*?"  he  drawled  in  an  ominous  voice. 
"What  are  you  nagging  about  now1?" 

"I  say  that  you  do  not  offer  God  so  much  as  one  little 
word  from  your  own  heart,  so  far  as  I  can  hear." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  155 

He  turned  livid,  and  quivering  with  rage,  jumped 
up  on  his  chair  and  threw  a  dish  at  her  head,  yelping 
with  a  sound  like  that  made  by  a  saw  on  a  piece  of 
wood: 

"Take  that,  you  old  hag!" 

When  he  spoke  of  the  omnipotence  of  God,  he  al- 
ways emphasized  its  cruelty  above  every  other  attri- 
bute. "Man  sinned,  and  the  Flood  was  sent;  sinned 
again,  and  his  towns  were  destroyed  by  fire;  then  God 
punished  people  by  famine  and  plague,  and  even  now 
He  is  always  holding  a  sword  over  the  earth — a  scourge 
for  sinners.  All  who  have  wilfully  broken  the  com- 
mandments of  God  will  be  punished  by  sorrow  and 
ruin."  And  he  emphasized  this  by  rapping  his  fingers 
on  the  table. 

It  was  hard  for  me  to  believe  in  the  cruelty  of  God, 
and  I  suspected  grandfather  of  having  made  it  all  up 
on  purpose  to  inspire  me  with  fear  not  of  God  but  of 
himself;  so  I  asked  him  frankly: 

"Are  you  saying  all  this  to  make  me  obey  you?" 

And  he  replied  with  equal  frankness: 

"Well,  perhaps  I  am.  Do  you  mean  to  disobey 
me  again?" 

"And  how  about  what  grandmother  says?" 

"Don't  you  believe  the  old  fool!"  he  admonished 
me  sternly.  "From  her  youth  she  has  always  been 
stupid,  illiterate,  and  unreasonable.  I  shall  tell  her 


156  MY  CHILDHOOD 

she  must  not  dare  to  talk  to  you  again  on  such  an  im- 
portant matter.  Tell  me,  now — how  many  companies 
of  angels  are  there*?" 

I  gave  the  required  answer,  and  then  I  asked : 

"Are  they  limited  companies'?" 

"Oh,  you  scatterbrain !"  he  laughed,  covering  his 
eyes  and  biting  his  lips.  "What  have  companies  to  do 
with  God  .  .  .  they  belong  to  life  on  earth  .  .  .  they 
are  founded  to  set  the  laws  at  naught." 

"What  are  laws?" 

"Laws!  Well,  they  are  really  derived  from  cus- 
tom," the  old  man  explained,  with  pleased  alacrity; 
and  his  intelligent,  piercing  eyes  sparkled.  "People 
living  together  agree  amongst  themselves — 'Such  and 
such  is  our  best  course  of  action ;  we  will  make  a  custom 
of  it — a  rule' ;  finally  it  becomes  a  law.  For  example, 
before  they  begin  a  game,  children  will  settle  amongst 
themselves  how  it  is  to  be  played,  and  what  rules  are 
to  be  observed.  Laws  are  made  in  the  same  way." 

"And  what  have  companies  to  do  with  laws'?" 

"Why,  they  are  like  an  impudent  fellow;  they  come 
along  and  make  the  laws  of  no  account." 

"But  why*?" 

"Ah!  that  you  would  not  understand,"  he  replied, 
knitting  his  brows  heavily ;  but  afterwards,  as  if  in  ex- 
planation, he  said: 

"All  the  actions  of  men  help  to  work  out  God's  plans. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  157 

Men  desire  one  thing,  but  He  wills  something  quite 
different.  Human  institutions  are  never  lasting.  The 
Lord  blows  on  them,  and  they  fall  into  dust  and  ashes." 

I  had  reason  for  being  interested  in  "companies," 
so  I  went  on  inquisitively: 

"But  what  does  Uncle  Jaakov  mean  when  he  sings: 

"The  Angels  bright 
For  God  will  fight, 
But  Satan's  slaves 
Are  companies"? 

Grandfather  raised  his  hand  to  his  beard,  thus  hid- 
ing his  mouth,  and  closed  his  eyes.  His  cheeks  quiv- 
ered, and  I  guessed  that  he  was  laughing  inwardly. 

"Jaakov  ought  to  have  his  feet  tied  together  and 
be  thrown  into  the  water,"  he  said.  "There  was  no 
necessity  for  him  to  sing  or  for  you  to  listen  to  that 
song.  It  is  nothing  but  a  silly  joke  which  is  current  in 
Kalonga — a  piece  of  schismatical,  heretical  nonsense." 
And  looking,  as  it  were,  through  and  beyond  me,  he 
murmured  thoughtfully:  "U — u — ugh,  you!" 

But  though  he  had  set  God  over  mankind,  as  a  Being 
to  be  very  greatly  feared,  none  the  less  did  he,  like 
grandmother,  invoke  Him  in  all  his  doings. 

The  only  saints  grandmother  knew  were  Nikolai, 
Yowry,  Frola,  and  Lavra,  who  were  full  of  kindness 
and  sympathy  with  human-nature,  and  went  about  in 
the  villages  and  towns  sharing  the  life  of  the  people, 


158  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  regulating  all  their  concerns;  but  grandfather's 
saints  were  nearly  all  males,  who  cast  down  idols,  or 
defied  the  Roman  emperors,  and  were  tortured,  burned 
or  flayed  alive  in  consequence. 

Sometimes  grandfather  would  say  musingly: 

"If  only  God  would  help  me  to  sell  that  little  house, 
even  at  a  small  profit,  I  would  make  a  public  thanks- 
giving to  St.  Nicholas." 

But  grandmother  would  say  to  me,  laughingly: 

"That's  just  like  the  old  fool!  Does  he  think  St. 
Nicholas  will  trouble  himself  about  selling  a  house"? 
Has  n't  our  little  Father  Nicholas  something  better 
to  do?" 

I  kept  by  me  for  many  years  a  church  calendar 
which  had  belonged  to  grandfather,  containing  several 
inscriptions  in  his  handwriting.  Amongst  others,  op- 
posite the  day  of  Joachim  and  Anne,  was  written  in  red 
ink,  and  very  upright  characters : 

"My  benefactors,  who  averted  a  calamity." 

I  remember  that  "calamity." 

In  his  anxiety  about  the  maintenance  of  his  very 
unprofitable  children,  grandfather  set  up  as  a  money- 
lender, and  used  to  receive  articles  in  pledge  secretly. 
Some  one  laid  an  information  against  him,  and  one 
night  the  police  came  to  search  the  premises.  There 
was  a  great  fuss,  but  it  ended  well,  and  grandfather 
prayed  till  sunrise  the  next  morning,  and  before  break- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  159 

fast,  and  in  my  presence,  wrote  those  words  in  the 
calendar. 

Before  supper  he  used  to  read  with  me  the  Psalms, 
the  breviary,  or  the  heavy  book  of  Ephraim  Sirine ;  but 
as  soon  as  he  had  supped  he  began  to  pray  again,  and 
his  melancholy  words  of  contrition  resounded  in  the 
stillness  of  evening : 

"What  can  I  offer  to  Thee,  or  how  can  I  atone  to 
Thee,  O  generous  God,  O  King  of  Kings!  .  .  .  Pre- 
serve us  from  all  evil  imaginations.  .  .  .  O  Lord,  pro- 
tect me  from  certain  persons !  .  .  .  My  tears  fall  like 
rain,  and  the  memory  of  my  sins  ..." 

But  very  often  grandmother  said: 

"Oie,  I  am  dog-tired!  I  shall  go  to  bed  without 
saying  my  prayers." 

Grandfather  used  to  take  me  to  church — to  vespers 
on  Saturday,  and  to  High  Mass  on  Sundays  and  fes- 
tivals— but  even  in  church  I  made  a  distinction  as  to 
which  God  was  being  addressed ;  whatever  the  priest  or 
the  deacon  recited — that  was  to  grandfather's  God ;  but 
the  choir  always  sang  to  grandmother's  God.  Of 
course  I  can  only  crudely  express  this  childish  distinc- 
tion which  I  made  between  these  two  Gods,  but  I  re- 
member how  it  seemed  to  tear  my  heart  with  terrific 
violence,  and  how  grandfather's  God  aroused  in  my 
mind  a  feeling  of  terror  and  unpleasantness.  A  Being 
Who  loved  no  one,  He  followed  all  of  us  about  with 


i6o  MY  CHILDHOOD 

His  severe  eyes,  seeking  and  finding  all  that  was  ugly, 
evil,  and  sinful  in  us.  Evidently  He  put  no  trust  in 
man,  He  was  always  insisting  on  penance,  and  He  loved 
to  chastise. 

In  those  days  my  thoughts  and  feelings  about  God 
were  the  chief  nourishment  of  my  soul  and  were  the 
most  beautiful  ones  of  my  existence.  All  other  im- 
pressions which  I  received  did  nothing  but  disgust  me 
by  their  cruelty  and  squalor,  and  awaken  in  me  a  sense 
of  repugnance  and  ferocity.  God  was  the  best  and 
brightest  of  all  the  beings  who  lived  about  me — grand- 
mother's God,  that  Dear  Friend  of  all  creation;  and 
naturally  I  could  not  help  being  disturbed  by  the  ques- 
tion— "How  is  it  that  grandfather  cannot  see  the  Good 
God?" 

I  was  not  allowed  to  run  about  the  streets  because  it 
made  me  too  excited.  I  became,  as  it  were,  intoxicated 
by  the  impressions  which  I  received,  and  there  was  al- 
most always  a  violent  scene  afterwards. 

I  had  no  comrades.  The  neighbors'  children  treated 
me  as  an  enemy.  I  objected  to  their  calling  me  "the 
Kashmirin  boy,"  and  seeing  that  they  did  it  all  the 
more,  calling  out  to  each  other  as  soon  as  they  saw  me : 
"Look,  here  comes  that  brat,  Kashmirin's  grandson. 
Go  for  him!"  then  the  fight  would  begin.  I  was 
strong  for  my  age  and  active  with  my  fists,  and  my  ene- 
mies, knowing  this,  always  fell  upon  me  in  a  crowd ;  and 


MY  CHILDHOOD  161 

as  a  rule  the  street  vanquished  me,  and  I  returned  home 
with  a  cut  across  my  nose,  gashed  lips,  and  bruises  all 
over  my  face — all  in  rags  and  smothered  in  dust. 

"What  now?"  grandmother  exclaimed  as  she  met 
me,  with  a  mixture  of  alarm  and  pity;  "so  you  've  been 
fighting  again,  you  young  rascal  ?  What  do  you  mean 
by  it?' 

She  washed  my  face,  and  applied  to  my  bruises  cop- 
per coins  or  fomentations  of  lead,  saying  as  she  did  so : 

"Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  all  this  fighting"? 
You  are  as  quiet  as  anything  at  home,  but  out  of  doors 
you  are  like  I  don't  know  what.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself.  I  shall  tell  grandfather  not  to 
let  you  go  out." 

Grandfather  used  to  see  my  bruises,  but  he  never 
scolded  me ;  he  only  quackled,  and  roared : 

"More  decorations!  While  you  are  in  my  house, 
young  warrior,  don't  you  dare  to  run  about  the  streets; 
do  you  hear  me*?" 

I  was  never  attracted,  by  the  street  if  it  was  quiet, 
but  as  soon  as  I  heard  the  merry  buzz  of  the  children, 
I  ran  out  of  the  yard,  forgetting  all  about  grand- 
father's prohibition.  Bruises  and  taunts  did  not  hurt 
me,  but  the  brutality  of  the  street  sports — a  brutality 
only  too  well  known  to  me,  wearying  and  oppressive, 
reducing  one  to  a  state  of  frenzy — disturbed  me 
tremendously.  I  could  not  contain  myself  when  the 


162  MY  CHILDHOOD 

children  baited  dogs  and  cocks,  tortured  cats,  drove 
away  the  goats  of  the  Jews,  jeered  at  drunken  vaga- 
bonds, and  at  happy  "Igosha  with  death  in  his  pocket." 

This  was  a  tall,  withered-looking,  smoke-dried  indi- 
vidual clad  in  a  heavy  sheepskin,  with  coarse  hair  on 
his  fleshless,  rusty  face.  He  went  about  the  streets, 
stooping,  wavering  strangely,  and  never  speaking — gaz- 
ing fixedly  all  the  time  at  the  ground.  His  iron-hued 
face,  with  its  small,  sad  eyes,  inspired  me  with  an  un- 
easy respect  for  him.  Here  was  a  man,  I  thought,  pre- 
occupied with  a  weighty  matter;  he  was  looking  for 
something,  and  it  was  wrong  to  hinder  him. 

The  little  boys  used  to  run  after  him,  slinging  stones 
at  his  broad  back;  and  after  going  on  for  some  time  as 
if  he  did  not  notice  them,  and  as  if  he  were  not  even  con- 
scious of  the  pain  of  the  blows,  he  would  stand  still, 
throw  up  his  head,  push  back  his  ragged  cap  with  a  spas- 
modic movement  of  his  hands,  and  look  about  him  as  if 
he  had  but  just  awoke. 

"Igosha  with  death  in  his  pocket!  Igosha,  where 
are  you  going1?  Look  out,  Death  in  your  pocket!" 
cried  the  boys. 

He  would  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  then  stoop- 
ing quickly  would  pick  up  a  stone  or  a  lump  of  dry 
mud  from  the  ground,  and  flourish  his  long  arms  as  he 
muttered  abuse,  which  was  confined  always  to  the  same 
few  filthy  words.  The  boys'  vocabulary  was  im- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  163 

measurably  richer  than  his  in  this  respect.  Sometimes 
he  hobbled  after  them,  but  his  long  sheepskin  hindered 
him  in  running,  and  he  would  fall  on  his  knees,  resting 
his  black  hands  on  the  ground,  and  looking  just  like  the 
withered  branch  of  a  tree;  while  the  children  aimed 
stones  at  his  sides  and  back,  and  the  biggest  of  them 
ventured  to  run  quite  close  to  him  and,  jumping  about 
him,  scattered  handfuls  of  dust  over  his  head. 

But  the  most  painful  spectacle  which  I  beheld  in  the 
streets  was  that  of  our  late  foreman,  Gregory  Ivan- 
ovitch,  who  had  become  quite  blind,  and  now  went 
about  begging;  looking  so  tall  and  handsome,  and  never 
speaking.  A  little  gray-haired  old  woman  held  him  by 
the  arm,  and  halting  under  the  windows,  to  which  she 
never  raised  her  eyes,  she  wailed  in  a  squeaky  voice : 
"For  Christ's  sake,  pity  the  poor  blind !" 
But  Gregory  Ivanovitch  said  never  a  word.  His 
dark  glasses  looked  straight  into  the  walls  of  the  houses, 
in  at  the  windows,  or  into  the  faces  of  the  passers-by; 
his  broad  beard  gently  brushed  his  stained  hands;  his 
lips  were  closely  pressed  together.  I  often  saw  him, 
but  I  never  heard  a  sound  proceed  from  that  sealed 
mouth ;  and  the  thought  of  that  silent  old  man  weighed 
upon  me  torturingly.  I  could  not  go  to  him — I  never 
went  near  him;  on  the  contrary,  as  soon  as  I  caught 
sight  of  him  being  led  along,  I  used  to  run  into  the 
house  and  say  to  grandmother: 


164  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Gregory  is  out  there." 

"Is  he?"  she  would  exclaim  in  an  uneasy,  pitying 
tone.  "Well,  run  back  and  give  him  this." 

But  I  would  refuse  curtly  and  angrily,  and  she  would 
go  to  the  gate  herself  and  stand  talking  to  him  for  a 
long  time.  He  used  to  laugh,  and  pull  his  beard,  but 
he  said  little,  and  that  little  in  monosyllables.  Some- 
times grandmother  brought  him  into  the  kitchen  and 
gave  him  tea  and  something  to  eat,  and  every  time  she 
did  so  he  inquired  where  I  was.  Grandmother  called 
me,  but  I  ran  away  and  hid  myself  in  the  yard.  I  could 
not  go  to  him.  I  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  intoler- 
able shame  in  his  presence,  and  I  knew  that  grand- 
mother was  ashamed  too.  Only  once  we  discussed 
Gregory  between  ourselves,  and  this  was  one  day  when, 
having  led  him  to  the  gate,  she  came  back  through  the 
yard,  crying  and  hanging  her  head.  I  went  to  her  and 
took  her  hand. 

"Why  do  you  run  away  from  him?"  she  asked  softly. 
"He  is  a  good  man,  and  very  fond  of  you,  you  know." 

"Why  does  n't  grandfather  keep  him?"  I  asked. 

"Grandfather?"  she  halted,  and  then  uttered  in  a 
very  low  voice  those  prophetic  words:  "Remember 
what  I  say  to  you  now — God  will  punish  us  grievously 
for  this.  He  will  punish  us — " 

And  she  was  not  wrong,  for  ten  years  later,  when  she 
had  been  laid  to  rest,  grandfather  was  wandering 


MY  CHILDHOOD  165 

through  the  streets  of  the  town,  himself  a  beggar,  and 
out  of  his  mind — pitifully  whining  under  the  windows : 

"Kind  cooks,  give  me  a  little  piece  of  pie — just  a  lit- 
tle piece  of  pie.  U — gh,  you!" 

Besides  Igosha  and  Gregory  Ivanovitch,  I  was  greatly 
concerned  about  the  Voronka — a  woman  of  bad  repu- 
tation, who  was  chased  away  from  the  streets.  She 
used  to  appear  on  holidays — an  enormous,  dishevelled, 
tipsy  creature,  walking  with  a  peculiar  gait,  as  if  with- 
out moving  her  feet  or  touching  the  earth — drifting 
along  like  a  cloud,  and  bawling  her  ribald,  songs.  Peo- 
ple in  the  street  hid  themselves  as  soon  as  they  saw  her, 
running  into  gateways,  or  corners,  or  shops ;  she  simply 
swept  the  street  clean.  Her  face  was  almost  blue,  and 
blown  out  like  a  bladder;  her  large  gray  eyes  were 
hideously  and  strangely  wide  open,  and  sometimes  she 
groaned  and  cried : 

"My  little  children,  where  are  you*?" 

I  asked  grandmother  who  she  was. 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  know,"  she  answered; 
nevertheless  she  told  me  briefly: 

"This  woman  had  a  husband — a  civil-servant  named 
Voronov,  who  wished  to  rise  to  a  better  position ;  so  he 
sold  his  wife  to  his  Chief,  who  took  her  away  some- 
where, and  she  did  not  come  home  for  two  years. 
When  she  returned,  both  her  children — a  boy  and  a 
girl — were  dead,  and  her  husband  was  in  prison  for 


166  MY  CHILDHOOD 

gambling  with  Government  money.  She  took  to 
drink,  in  her  grief,  and  now  goes  about  creating  dis- 
turbances. No  holiday  passes  without  her  being  taken 
up  by  the  police." 

Yes,  home  was  certainly  better  than  the  street.  The 
best  time  was  after  dinner,  when  grandfather  went  to 
Uncle  Jaakov's  workshop,  and  grandmother  sat  by  the 
window  and  told  me  interesting  fairy-tales,  and  other 
stories,  and  spoke  to  me  about  my  father. 

The  starling,  which  she  had  rescued  from  the  cat, 
had  had  his  broken  wings  clipped,  and  grandmother  had 
skilfully  made  a  wooden  leg  to  replace  the  one  which 
had  been  devoured.  Then  she  taught  him  to  talk. 
Sometimes  she  would  stand  for  a  whole  hour  in  front 
of  the  cage,  which  hung  from  the  window-frame,  and, 
looking  like  a  huge,  good-natured  animal,  would  repeat 
in  her  hoarse  voice  to  the  bird,  whose. plumage  was  as 
black  as  coal : 

"Now,  my  pretty  starling,  ask  for  something  to  eat." 

The  starling  would  fix  his  small,  lively,  humorous 
eye  upon  her,  and  tap  his  wooden  leg  on  the  thin  bottom 
of  the  cage;  then  he  would  stretch  out  his  neck  and 
whistle  like  a  goldfinch,  or  imitate  the  mocking  note  of 
the  cuckoo.  He  would  try  to  mew  like  a  cat,  and  howl 
like  a  dog;  but  the  gift  of  human  speech  was  denied  to 
him. 

"No  nonsense  now!"  grandmother  would  say  quite 


MY  CHILDHOOD  167 

seriously.     "Say    'Give    the    starling    something    to 
eat.'  " 

The  little  black-feathered  monkey  having  uttered  a 
sound  which  might  have  been  "babushka"  (grand- 
mother), the  old  woman  would  smile  joyfully  and  feed 
him  from  her  hand,  as  she  said : 

"I  know  you,  you  rogue !  You  are  a  make-believe. 
There  is  nothing  you  can't  do— you  are  clever  enough 
for  anything." 

And  she  certainly  did  succeed  in  teaching  the  star- 
ling; and  before  long  he  could  ask  for  what  he  wanted 
clearly  enough,  and,  prompted  by  grandmother,  could 
drawl : 

"Go — oo — ood  mo — o — orning,  my  good  woman!" 
At  first  his  cage  used  to  hang  in  grandfather's  room, 
but  he  was  soon  turned  out  and  put  up  in  the  attic,  be- 
cause he  learned  to  mock  grandfather.  He  used  to  put 
his  yellow,  waxen  bill  through  the  bars  of  the  cage  while 
grandfather  was  saying  his  prayers  loudly  and  clearly, 
and  pipe : 

"Thou!     Thou!     Thee!     The— ee!     Thou!" 
Grandfather  chose  to  take  offense  at  this,  and  once 
he  broke  off  his  prayers  and  stamped  his  feet,  crying 
furiously : 

"Take  that  devil  away,  or  I  will  kill  him !" 
Much  that  was  interesting  and  amusing  went  on  in 
this  house;  but  at  times  I  was  oppressed  by  an  inex- 


i68  MY  CHILDHOOD 

pressible  sadness.  My  whole  being  seemed  to  be  con- 
sumed by  it;  and  for  a  long  time  I  lived  as  in  a  dark  pit, 
deprived  of  sight,  hearing,  feeling — blind  and  half- 
dead. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GRANDFATHER  unexpectedly  sold  the  house 
over  the  tavern  and  bought  another  in  Kanatoroi 
Street — a  ramshackle  house  overgrown  with  grass,  but 
clean  and  quiet;  and  it  seemed  to  rise  up  out  of  the 
fields,  being  the  last  of  a  row  of  little  houses  painted  in 
various  colors. 

The  new  house  was  trim  and  charming;  its  fagade 
was  painted  in  a  warm  but  not  gaudy  shade  of  dark 
raspberry,  against  which  the  sky-blue  shutters  of  the 
three  lower  windows  and  the  solitary  square  of  the 
shutter  belonging  to  the  attic  window  appeared  very 
bright.  The  left  side  of  the  roof  was  picturesquely 
hidden  by  thick  green  elms  and  lime  trees.  Both  in 
the  yard  and  in  the  garden  there  were  many  winding 
paths,  so  convenient  that  they  seemed  to  have  been 
placed  there  on  purpose  for  hide-and-seek. 

The  garden  was  particularly  good;  though  not  large, 
it  was  wooded  and  pleasantly  intricate.  In  one  corner 
stood  a  small  washhouse,  just  like  a  toy  building;  and 
in  the  other  was  a  fair-sized  pit,  grown  over  with  high 
grass,  from  which  protruded  the  thick  chimney-stack 
which  was  all  that  remained  of  the  heating  apparatus 

169 


170  MY  CHILDHOOD 

of  an  earlier  washhouse.  On  the  left  the  garden  was 
bounded  by  the  wall  of  Colonel  Ovsyanikov's  stables, 
and  on  the  right  by  Betlenga  House;  the  end  abutted 
on  the  farm  belonging  to  the  dairy-woman  Petrovna — 
a  stout,  red,  noisy  female,  who  reminded  me  of  a  bell. 
Her  little  house,  built  in  a  hollow,  was  dark  and  dilapi- 
dated, and  well  covered  with  moss;  its  two  windows 
looked  out  with  a  benevolent  expression  upon  the  field, 
the  deep  ravine,  and  the  forest,  which  apppeared  like 
a  heavy  blue  cloud  in  the  distance.  Soldiers  moved  or 
ran  about  the  fields  all  day  long,  and  their  bayonets 
flashed  like  white  lightning  in  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
autumn  sun. 

The  house  was  filled  with  people  who  seemed  to  me 
very  wonderful.  On  the  first  floor  lived  a  soldier  from 
Tartary  with  his  little,  buxom  wife,  who  shouted  from 
morn  till  night,  and  laughed,  and  played  on  a  richly 
ornamented  guitar,  and  sang  in  a  high  flute-like  voice. 
This  was  the  song  she  sang  most  often : 

"There  's  one  you  love,  but  her  love  you  will  miss, 

Seek  on !  another  you  must  find. 
And  you  will  find  her — for  reward  a  kiss — 

Seven  times  as  beautiful  and  kind. 
Oh,  what  a  glo — or — i — ous  reward!" 

The  soldier,  round  as  a  ball,  sat  at  the  window  and 
puffed  out  his  blue  face,  and  roguishly  turned  his  red- 
dish eyes  from  side  to  side,  as  he  smoked  his  everlast- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  171 

ing  pipe,  and  occasionally  coughed,  and  giggled  with  a 
strange,  doglike  sound: 

"Vookh!     Voo— kh!" 

In  the  comfortable  room  which  had  been  built  over 
the  cellar  and  the  stables,  lodged  two  draymen — little, 
gray-haired  Uncle  Peter  and  his  dumb  nephew  Stepa — 
a  smooth,  easy-going  fellow,  whose  face  reminded  me 
of  a  copper  tray — and  a  long-limbed,  gloomy  Tartar, 
Valei,  who  was  an  officer's  servant.  All  these  people 
were  to  me  a  complete  novelty — magnificent  "un- 
knowns." But  the  one  who  attracted  my  attention  and 
held  it  in  a  special  degree,  was  the  boarder,  nicknamed 
"Good-business."  He  rented  a  room  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  next  to  the  kitchen — a  long  room  with  two 
windows,  one  looking  on  the  garden,  the  other  on  the 
yard.  He  was  a  lean,  stooping  man  with  a  white  face 
and  a  black  beard,  cleft  in  two,  with  kind  eyes  over 
which  he  wore  spectacles.  He  was  silent  and  unob- 
trusive, and  when  he  was  called  to  dinner  or  tea,  his  in- 
variable reply  was  "Good-business  !'r  so  grandmother 
began  to  call  him  that  both  to  his  face  and  behind  his 
back.  It  was:  "Lenka!  Call  'Good-business'  to 
tea,"  or  "  'Good-business,'  you  are  eating  nothing!" 

His  room  was  blocked  up  and  encumbered  with  all 
sorts  of  cases  and  thick  books,  which  looked  strange  to 
me,  in  Russian  characters.  Here  were  also  bottles  con- 
taining liquids  of  different  colors,  lumps  of  copper  and 


172  MY  CHILDHOOD 

iron,  and  bars  of  lead;  and  from  morning  till  night, 
dressed  in  a  reddish  leather  jacket,  with  gray  check 
trousers  all  smeared  with  different  kinds  of  paint,  and 
smelling  abominable,  and  looking  both  untidy  and  un- 
comfortable, he  melted  lead,  soldered  some  kind  of 
brass  articles,  weighed  things  in  small  scales,  roared  out 
when  he  burned  his  fingers,  and  then  patiently  blew  on 
them.  Or  he  would  stumblingly  approach  a  plan  on 
the  wall,  and  polishing  his  glasses,  sniff  at  it,  almost 
touching  the  paper  with  his  straight,  curiously  pallid 
nose;  or  he  would  suddenly  stand  still  for  a  long  time 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  or  at  the  window,  with  his 
eyes  closed,  and  his  head  raised — as  if  he  were  in  a 
state  of  immobile  stupefaction. 

I  used  to  climb  on  the  roof  of  the  shed,  whence  I 
could  look  across  the  yard;  and  in  at  the  open  window 
I  could  see  the  blue  light  of  the  spirit-lamp  on  the  table, 
and  his  dark  figure  as  he  wrote  something  in  a  tattered 
notebook,  with  his  spectacles  gleaming  with  a  bluish 
light,  like  ice.  The  wizard-like  employment  of  this 
man  often  kept  me  on  the  roof  for  hours  together,  with 
my  curiosity  excited  to  a  tormenting  pitch.  Sometimes 
he  stood  at  the  window,  as  if  he  were  framed  in  it,  with 
his  hands  behind  him,  looking  straight  at  the  roof;  but 
apparently  he  did  not  see  me,  a  fact  which  gave  me 
great  offense.  Suddenly  he  would  start  back  to  the 


MY  CHILDHOOD  173 

table,  and  bending  double,  would  begin  to  rummage 
about. 

I  think  that  if  he  had  been  rich  and  better  dressed  I 
should  have  been  afraid  of  him;  but  he  was  poor — a 
dirty  shirt  collar  could  be  seen  above  the  collar  of  his 
coat,  his  trousers  were  soiled  and  patched,  and  the  slip- 
pers on  his  bare  feet  were  down-trodden — and  the  poor 
are  neither  formidable  nor  dangerous.  I  had  uncon- 
sciously learned  this  from  grandmother's  pitiful  respect, 
and  grandfather's  contempt  for  them. 

Nobody  in  the  house  liked  "Good-business."  They 
all  made  fun  of  him.  The  soldier's  lively  wife  nick- 
named him  "Chalk-nose,"  Uncle  Peter  used  to  call  him 
"The  Apothecary"  or  "The  Wizard,"  and  grandfather 
described  him  as  "The  Black  Magician"  or  "That  Free- 
mason." 

"What  does  he  do*?"  I  asked  grandmother. 

"That  is  no  business  of  yours.     Hold  your  tongue !" 

But  one  day  I  plucked  up  courage  to  go  to  his  win- 
dow, and  concealing  my  nervousness  with  difficulty,  I 
asked  him,  "What  are  you  doing1?" 

He  started,  and  looked  at  me  for  a  long  time  over 
the  top  of  his  glasses;  then  stretching  out  his  hand, 
which  was  covered  with  scars  caused  by  burns,  he  said : 

"Climb  up!" 

His  proposal  that  I  should  enter  by  the  window  in- 


174  MY  CHILDHOOD 

stead  of  the  door  raised  him  still  higher  in  my  estima- 
tion. He  sat  on  a  case,  and  stood  me  in  front  of  him ; 
then  he  moved  away  and  came  back  again  quite  close  to 
me,  and  asked  in  a  low  voice: 

"And  where  do  you  come  from*?" 

This  was  curious,  considering  that  I  sat  close  to  him 
at  table  in  the  kitchen  four  times  a  day. 

"I  am  the  landlord's  grandson,"  I  replied. 

"Ah — yes,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  fingers. 

He  said  no  more,  so  I  thought  it  necessary  to  explain 
to  him : 

"I  am  not  a  Kashmirin — my  name  is  Pyeshkov." 

"Pyeshkov?"  he  repeated  incredulously.  "Good- 
business  !" 

Moving  me  on  one  side,  he  rose,  and  went  to  the 
table,  saying: 

"Sit  still  now." 

I  sat  for  a  long,  long  time  watching  him  as  he  scraped 
a  filed  piece  of  copper,  put  it  through  a  press,  from 
under  which  the  filings  fell,  like  golden  groats,  on  to  a 
piece  of  cardboard.  These  he  gathered  up  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand  and  shook  them  into  a  bulging  vessel,  to 
which  he  added  white  dust,  like  salt,  which  he  took 
from  a  small  bowl,  and  some  fluid  out  of  a  dark  bottle. 
The  mixture  in  the  vessel  immediately  began  to  hiss 
and  to  smoke,  and  a  biting  smell  rose  to  my  nostrils 
which  caused  me  to  cough  violently. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  175 

"Ah!"  said  the  wizard  in  a  boastful  tone.  "That 
smells  nasty,  does  n't  it*?" 

"Yes!" 

"That 's  right !  That  shows  that  it  has  turned  out 
well,  my  boy." 

"What  is  there  to  boast  about?"  I  said  to  myself; 
and  aloud  I  remarked  severely : 

"If  it  is  nasty  it  can't  have  turned  out  well." 

"Really!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  wink.  "That  does 
not  always  follow,  my  boy.  However —  Do  you 
play  knuckle-bones'?" 

"You  mean  dibs?" 

"That 's  it." 

"Yes." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  make  you  a  thrower?" 

"Very  well,  let  me  have  the  dibs  then." 

He  came  over  to  me  again,  holding  the  steaming 
vessel  in  his  hand;  and  peeping  into  it  with  one  eye, 
he  said : 

"I  '11  make  you  a  thrower,  and  you  promise  not  to 
come  near  me  again — is  that  agreed?" 

I  was  terribly  hurt  at  this. 

"I  will  never  come  near  you  again,  never!"  And 
I  indignantly  left  him  and  went  out  to  the  garden, 
where  grandfather  was  bustling  about,  spreading 
manure  round  the  roots  of  the  apple  trees,  for  it  was 
autumn  and  the  leaves  had  fallen  long  ago. 


176  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Here!  you  go  and  clip  the  raspberry  bushes,"  said 
grandfather,  giving  me  the  scissors. 

"What  work  is  it  that  'Good-business'  does'?"  I 
asked. 

"Work — why,  he  is  damaging  his  room,  that 's  all. 
The  floor  is  burned,  and  the  hangings  soiled  and  torn. 
I  shall  tell  him  he  'd  better  shift." 

"That 's  the  best  thing  he  can  do,"  I  said,  beginning 
to  clip  the  dried  twigs  from  the  raspberry  bushes. 

But  I  was  too  hasty. 

On  wet  evenings,  whenever  grandfather  went  out, 
grandmother  used  to  contrive  to  give  an  interesting  little 
party  in  the  kitchen,  and  invited  all  the  occupants  of 
the  house  to  tea.  The  draymen,  the  officer's  servant, 
the  robust  Petrovna  often  came,  sometimes  even  the 
merry  little  lodger,  but  always  "Good-business"  was  to 
be  found  in  his  corner  by  the  stove,  motionless  and 
mute.  Dumb  Stepa  used  to  play  cards  with  the 
Tartar.  Valei  would  bang  the  cards  on  the  deaf  man's 
broad  nose  and  yell : 

"Your  deal !" 

Uncle  Peter  brought  an  enormous  chunk  of  white 
bread,  and  some  jam  in  large,  tall  pots ;  he  cut  the  bread 
hi  slices,  which  he  generously  spread  with  jam,  and  dis- 
tributed the  delicious  raspberry-strewn  slices  to  all,  pre- 
senting them  on  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  bowing 
low. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  177 

"Do  me  the  favor  of  eating  this,"  he  would  beg 
courteously;  and  after  any  one  had  accepted  a  slice,  he 
would  look  carefully  at  his  dark  hand,  and  if  he  noticed 
any  drops  of  jam  on  it,  he  would  lick  them  off. 

Petrovna  brought  some  cherry  liqueur  in  a  bottle, 
the  merry  lady  provided  nuts  and  sweets,  and  so  the 
feast  would  begin,  greatly  to  the  content  of  the  dear, 
fat  grandmother. 

Very  soon  after  "Good-business"  had  tried  to  bribe 
me  not  to  go  and  see  him  any  more,  grandmother  gave 
one  of  her  evenings. 

A  light  autumn  rain  was  falling;  the  wind  howled, 
the  trees  rustled  and  scraped  the  walls  with  their 
branches;  but  in  the  kitchen  it  was  warm  and  cozy 
as  we  all  sat  close  together,  conscious  of  a  tranquil 
feeling  of  kindness  towards  one  another,  while  grand- 
mother, unusually  generous,  told  us  story  after  story, 
each  one  better  than  the  other.  She  sat  on  the  ledge 
of  the  stove,  resting  her  feet  on  the  lower  ledge,  bend- 
ing towards  her  audience  with  the  light  of  a  little  tin 
lamp  thrown  upon  her.  Always  when  she  was  in  a 
mood  for  story-telling  she  took  up  this  position. 

"I  must  be  looking  down  on  you,"  she  would  ex- 
plain. "I  can  always  talk  better  that  way." 

I  placed  myself  at  her  feet  on  the  broad  ledge,  al- 
most on  a  level  with  the  head  of  "Good-business,"  and 
grandmother  told  us  the  fine  story  of  Ivan  the  Warrior, 


178  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  Miron  the  Hermit,  in  a  smooth  stream  of  pithy, 
well-chosen  words. 

"Once  lived  a  wicked  captain — Gordion, 
His  soul  was  black,  his  conscience  was  of  stone; 
He  hated  truth,  victims  he  did  not  lack, 
Fast  kept  in  chains,  or  stretched  upon  the  rack, 
And,  like  an  owl,  in  hollow  tree  concealed, 
So  lived  this  man,  in  evil  unrevealed. 
But  there  was  none  who  roused  his  hate  and  fear 
Like  Hermit  Miron,  to  the  people  dear. 
Mild  and  benign,  but  fierce  to  fight  for  truth, 
His  death  was  planned  without  remorse  or  ruth. 
The  captain  calls — most  trusted  of  his  band — 
Ivan  the  Warrior,  by  whose  practiced  hand 
The  Monk,  unarmed  and  guileless,  must  be  slain. 
'Ivan!'  he  said,  'too  long  that  scheming  brain 
Of  Hermit  Miron  has  defied  my  power. 
This  proud  Monk  merits  death,  and  now  the  hour 
Has  struck  when  he  must  say  farewell  to  earth. 
A  curse  he  has  been  to  it,  from  his  birth. 
Go,  seize  him  by  his  venerable  beard, 
And  to  me  bring  the  head  which  cowards  have  feared. 
My  dogs  with  joy  shall  greedily  devour 
The  head  of  him  who  thirsted  after  power.' 
Ivan,  obedient,  went  upon  his  way; 
But  to  himself  he  bitterly  did  say: 
'It  is  not  I  who  do  this  wicked  deed; 
I  go  because  my  master  I  must  heed.' 
His  sharp  word  he  hid  lest  it  should  betray 
The  evil  designs  in  his  mind  that  day. 
The  Monk  he  salutes  with  dissembling  voice: 
'To  see  you  in  health  I  greatly  rejoice! 


MY  CHILDHOOD  179 

Your  blessing,  my  Father!     And  God  bless  you!' 

The  Monk  laughed  abrutly,  his  words  were  few: 

'Enough,  Ivan!     Your  lies  do  not  deceive. 

That  God  knows  all,  I  hope  you  do  believe. 

Against  His  will,  nor  good  nor  ill  is  done. 

I  know,  you  see,  why  you  to  me  have  come.' 

In  shame  before  the  Monk  Ivan  stood  still; 

In  fear  of  this  man  he  had  come  to  kill. 

From  leathern  sheath  his  sword  he  proudly  drew; 

The  shining  blade  he  rubbed  till  it  looked  new. 

'I  meant  to  take  you  unawares,'  he  said; 

'To  kill  you  prayerless ;  now  I  am  afraid. 

To  God  you  now  shall  have  some  time  to  pray. 

I  '11  give  you  time  for  all  you  want  to  say, 

For  me,  for  you,  for  all,  born  and  unborn, 

And  then  I  '11  send  you  where  your  prayers  have  gone.' 

The  Hermit  knelt;  above  him  spread  an  oak 

Which  bowed  its  head  before  him.     Then  he  spoke, 

In  archness  smiling.     'Oh,  Ivan,  think  well! 

How  long  my  prayer  will  take  I  cannot  tell. 

Had  you  not  better  kill  me  straight  away 

Lest  waiting  tire  you,  furious  at  delay  ?' 

Ivan  in  anger  frowned,  and  said  in  boast, 

'My  word  is  given,  and  though  at  my  post 

You  keep  me  a  century,  I  will  wait. 

So  pray  in  peace,  nor  your  ardor  abate.' 

The  shadows  of  even  fell  on  the  Monk, 

And  all  through  the  night  in  prayer  he  was  sunk; 

From  dawn  till  sunset,  through  another  night; 

From  golden  summer  days  to  winter's  blight 

So  ran  on,  year  by  year,  old  Miron's  prayer. 

And  to  disturb  him  Ivan  did  not  dare. 

The  sapling  oak  its  lofty  branches  reared 

Into  the  sky,  while  all  around  appeared 


i8o  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Its  offshoots,  into  a  thick  forest  grown. 

And  all  the  time  the  holy  prayer  went  on, 

And  still  continues  to  this  very  day. 

The  old  man  softly  to  his  God  doth  pray, 

And  to  Our  Lady,  the  mother  of  all, 

To  help  men  and  women  who  faint  and  fall, 

To  succor  the  weak,  to  the  sad  give  joy. 

Ivanushka,  Warrior,  stands  close  by, 

His  bright  sword  long  has  been  covered  with  dust, 

Corroded  his  armor  by  biting  rust, 

Long  fallen  to  pieces  his  brave  attire. 

His  body  is  naked  and  covered  with  mire. 

The  heat  does  but  sear,  no  warmth  does  impart; 

Such  fate  as  his  would  freeze  the  stoutest  heart. 

Fierce  wolves  and  savage  bears  from  him  do  flee, 

From  snowstorm  and  from  frost  alike  he  's  free ; 

No  strength  has  he  to  move  from  that  dread  spot 

Or  lift  his  hands.     To  speak  is  not  his  lot. 

Let  us  be  warned  by  his  terrible  fate, 

Nor  of  meek  obedience  let  us  prate. 

If  we  are  ordered  to  do  something  wrong, 

Our  duty  is  then  to  stand  firm  and  be  strong. 

But  for  us  sinners  still  the  Hermit  prays, 

Still  flows  his  prayer  to  God,  e'en  in  these  days — 

A  dear,  bright  river,  flowing  to  the  sea." 

Before  grandmother  had  reached  the  end  of  her  story, 
I  had  noticed  that  "Good-business"  was,  for  some 
reason,  agitated;  he  was  fidgeting  restlessly  with  his 
hands,  taking  off  his  spectacles  and  putting  them  on 
again,  or  waving^them  to  keep  time  with  the  rhythm  of 
the  words,  nodding  his  head,  putting  his  fingers  into 


MY  CHILDHOOD  181 

his  eyes,  or  rubbing  them  energetically,  and  passing  the 
palms  of  his  hands  over  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  as  if 
he  were  perspiring  freely.  When  any  one  of  the 
others  moved,  coughed,  or  scraped  his  feet  on  the  floor, 
the  boarder  hissed:  "Ssh!";  and  when  grandmother 
ceased  speaking,  and  sat  rubbing  her  perspiring  face 
with  the  sleeve  of  her  blouse,  he  jumped  up  noisily,  and 
putting  out  his  hands  as  if  he  felt  giddy,  he  babbled : 

"I  say !  That 's  wonderful !  It  ought  to  be  written 
down;  really,  it  ought.  It  is  terribly  true  too.  .  .  . 
Our  .  .  ." 

Every  one  could  see  now  that  he  was  crying ;  his  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  which  flowed  so  copiously  that  his 
eyes  were  bathed  in  them — it  was  a  strange  and  pitiful 
sight.  He  looked  so  comical  as  he  ran  about  the 
kitchen,  or  rather  clumsily  hopped  about — swinging  his 
glasses  before  his  nose;  desirous  of  putting  them  on 
again  but  unable  to  slip  the  wires  over  his  ears — that 
Uncle  Peter  laughed,  and  the  others  were  silent  from 
embarrassment.  Grandmother  said  harshly: 

"Write  it  down  by  all  means,  if  you  like.  There  's 
no  harm  in  that.  And  I  know  plenty  more  of  the  same 
kind." 

"No,  that  is  the  only  one  I  want.  It  is — so — 
dreadfully  Russian!"  cried  the  boarder  excitedly;  and 
standing  stock-still  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  he  be- 
gan to  talk  loudly,  clearing  the  air  with  his  right  hand, 


182  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  holding  his  glasses  in  the  other.  He  spoke  for 
some  time  in  a  frenzied  manner,  his  voice  rising  to  a 
squeak,  stamping  his  feet,  and  often  repeating  him- 
self: 

"If  we  are  ordered  to  do  something  wrong  our  duty 
is  then  to  be  firm  and  strong.  True !  True !" 

Then  suddenly  his  voice  broke,  he  ceased  speaking, 
looked  round  on  all  of  us,  and  quietly  left  the  room, 
hanging  his  head  with  a  guilty  air. 

The  other  guests  laughed,  and  glanced  at  each  other 
with  expressions  of  embarrassment.  Grandmother 
moved  farther  back  against  the  stove,  into  the  shadow, 
and  was  heard  to  sigh  heavily. 

Rubbing  the  palm  of  her  hand  across  her  thick  red 
lips,  Petrovna  observed : 

"He  seems  to  be  in  a  temper." 

"No,"  replied  Uncle  Peter;  "that 's  only  his  way." 

Grandmother  left  the  stove,  and  in  silence  began  to 
heat  the  samovar;  and  Uncle  Peter  added,  in  a  slow 
voice : 

"The  Lord  makes  people  like  that  sometimes — 
freaks." 

"Bachelors  always  play  the  fool,"  Valei  threw  out 
gruffly,  at  which  there  was  a  general  laugh ;  but  Uncle 
Peter  drawled: 

"He  was  actually  in  tears.  It  is  a  case  of  the  pike 
nibbling  what  the  roach  hardly — " 


MY  CHILDHOOD  183 

I  began  to  get  tired  of  all  this.  I  was  conscious  of  a 
heartache.  I  was  greatly  astonished  by  the  behavior  of 
"Good-business,"  and  very  sorry  for  him.  I  could  not 
get  his  swimming  eyes  out  of  my  mind. 

That  night  he  did  not  sleep  at  home,  but  he  returned 
the  next  day,  after  dinner — quiet,  crushed,  obviously 
embarrassed. 

"I  made  a  scene  last  night,"  he  said  to  grandmother, 
with  the  air  of  a  guilty  child.  "You  are  not  angry*?" 

"Why  should  I  be  angry  T 

"Why,  because  I  interrupted  .  .  .  and  talked  .  .  ." 

"You  offended  no  one." 

I  felt  that  grandmother  was  afraid  of  him.  She 
did  not  look  him  in  the  face,  and  spoke  in  a  subdued 
tone,  and  was  quite  unlike  herself. 

He  drew  near  to  her  and  said  with  amazing  sim- 
plicity : 

"You  see,  I  am  so  terribly  lonely.  I  have  no  one  be- 
longing to  me.  I  am  always  silent — silent;  and  then, 
all  on  a  sudden,  my  soul  seems  to  boil  over,  as  if  it  had 
been  torn  open.  At  such  times  I  could  speak  to  stones 
and  trees — " 

Grandmother  moved  away  from  him. 

"If  you  were  to  get  married  now,"  she  began. 

"Eh?"  he  cried,  wrinkling  up  his  face,  and  ran  out, 
throwing  his  arms  up  wildly. 

Grandmother  looked  after  him  frowning,  and  took  a 


184  MY  CHILDHOOD 

pinch  of  snuff;  after  which  she  sternly  admonished 
me: 

"Don't  you  hang  round  him  so  much.  Do  you  hear*? 
God  knows  what  sort  of  a  man  he  is !" 

But  I  was  attracted  to  him  afresh.  I  had  seen  how 
his  face  changed  and  fell  when  he  said  "terribly 
lonely";  there  was  something  in  those  words  which  I 
well  understood,  and  my  heart  was  touched.  I  went 
to  find  him. 

I  looked,  from  the  yard,  into  the  window  of  his 
room;  it  was  empty,  and  looked  like  a  lumber-room 
into  which  had  been  hurriedly  thrown  all  sorts  of  un- 
wanted things — as  unwanted  and  as  odd  as  its  occu- 
pier. I  went  into  the  garden,  and  there  I  saw  him  by 
the  pit.  He  was  bending  over,  with  his  hands  behind 
his  head,  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  and  was  seated 
uncomfortably  on  the  end  of  a  half -burnt  plank.  The 
greater  part  of  this  plank  was  buried  in  the  earth,  but 
the  end  of  it  struck  out,  glistening  like  coal,  above  the 
top  of  the  pit,  which  was  grown  over  with  nettles. 

The  very  fact  of  his  being  in  such  an  uncomfortable 
place  made  me  look  upon  this  man  in  a  still  more  favor- 
able light.  He  did  not  notice  me  for  some  time;  he 
was  gazing  beyond  me  with  his  half-blind,  owl-like 
eyes,  when  he  suddenly  asked  in  a  tone  of  vexation : 

"Did  you  want  me  for  anything?" 

"No." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  185 

"Why  are  you  here  then?" 

"I  could  n't  say." 

He  took  off  his  glasses,  polished  them  with  his  red 
and  black  spotted  handkerchief,  and  said: 

"Well,  climb  up  here." 

When  I  was  sitting  beside  him,  he  put  his  arm  round 
my  shoulders  and  pressed  me  to  him. 

"Sit  down.  Now  let  us  sit  still  and  be  quiet.  Will 
that  suit  you?  This  is  the  same — •  Are  you  obsti- 
nate?" 

"Yes." 

"Good-business !" 

We  were  silent  a  long  time.  It  was  a  quiet,  mild 
evening,  one  of  those  melancholy  evenings  of  late  sum- 
mer, when,  in  spite  of  the  profusion  of  flowers,  signs 
of  decay  are  visible,  and  every  hour  brings  impoverish- 
ment; when  the  earth,  having  already  exhausted  its 
luxuriant  summer  odors,  smells  of  nothing  but  a  chill 
dampness;  when  the  air  is  curiously  transparent,  and 
the  daws  dart  aimlessly  to  and  fro  against  the  red  sky, 
arousing  a  feeling  of  unhappiness.  Silence  reigned; 
and  any  sound,  such  as  the  fluttering  of  birds  or  the 
rustling  of  fallen  leaves,  struck  one  as  being  unnaturally 
loud,  and  caused  a  shuddering  start,  which  soon  died 
away  into  that  torpid  stillness  which  seemed  to  en- 
compass the  earth  and  cast  a  spell  over  the  heart.  In 
such  moments  as  these  are  born  thoughts  of  a  peculiar 


i86  MY  CHILDHOOD 

purity — ethereal  thoughts,  thin,  transparent  as  a  cob- 
web, incapable  of  being  expressed  in  words.  They 
come  and  go  quickly,  like  falling  stars,  kindling  a  flame 
of  sorrow  in  the  soul,  soothing  and  disturbing  it  at  the 
same  time;  and  the  soul  is,  as  it  were,  on  fire,  and, 
being  plastic,  receives  an  impression  which  lasts  for  all 
time. 

Pressed  close  to  the  boarder's  warm  body,  I  gazed, 
with  him,  through  the  black  branches  of  the  apple  tree, 
at  the  red  sky,  following  the  flight  of  the  flapping  rooks, 
and  noticing  how  the  dried  poppy-heads  shook  on  their 
stems,  scattering  their  coarse  seeds;  and  I  observed  the 
ragged,  dark  blue  clouds  with  livid  edges,  which 
stretched  over  the  fields,  and  the  crows  flying  heavily 
under  the  clouds  to  their  nests  in  the  burial-ground. 

It  was  all  beautiful ;  and  that  evening  it  all  seemed 
especially  beautiful,  and  in  harmony  with  my  feelings. 
Sometimes,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  my  companion  said: 

"This  is  quite  all  right,  my  boy,  is  n't  it1?  And  you 
don't  feel  it  damp  or  cold?" 

But  when  the  sky  became  overcast,  and  the  twilight, 
laden  with  damp,  spread  over  everything,  he  said : 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped.     We  shall  have  to  go  in." 

He  halted  at  the  garden  gate  and  said  softly : 

"Your  grandmother  is  a  splendid  woman.  Oh,  what 
a  treasure !"  And  he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  smile  and 
recited  in  a  low,  very  distinct  voice: 


MY  CHILDHOOD  187 

"  'Let  us  be  warned  by  his  terrible  fate, 
Nor  of  meek  obedience  let  us  prate. 
If  we  are  ordered  to  do  something  wrong, 
Our  duty  is  then  to  stand  firm  and  be  strong.'  " 

"Don't  forget  that,  my  boy!" 

And  pushing  me  before  him,  he  asked : 

"Can  you  write?' 

"No." 

"You  must  learn;  and  when  you  have  learned,  write 
down  grandmother's  stories.  You  will  find  it  worth 
while,  my  boy." 

And  so  we  became  friends ;  and  from  that  day  I  went 
to  see  "Good-business"  whenever  I  felt  inclined;  and 
sitting  on  one  of  the  cases,  or  on  some  rags,  I  used  to 
watch  him  melt  lead  and  heat  copper  till  it  was  red-hot, 
beat  layers  of  iron  on  a  little  anvil  with  an  elegant- 
handled,  light  hammer,  or  work  with  a  smooth  file  and 
a  saw  of  emery,  which  was  as  fine  as  a  thread.  He 
weighed  everything  on  his  delicately  adjusted  copper 
scales;  and  when  he  had  poured  various  liquids  into 
bulging,  white  vessels,  he  would  watch  them  till  they 
smoked  and  filled  the  room  with  an  acrid  odor,  and  then 
with  a  wrinkled-up  face  he  would  consult  a  thick  book, 
biting  his  red  lips,  or  softly  humming  in  his  husky 
voice : 

"O  Rose  of  Sharon— !" 

"What  are  you  doing*?" 


i88  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"I  am  making  something,  my  boy." 

"What?" 

"Ah — that  I  can't  tell  you.  You  would  n't  under- 
stand." 

"Grandfather  says  he  would  not  be  surprised  if  you 
were  coining  false  money." 

"Your  grandfather?  M'm!  Well,  he  says  that 
for  something  to  say.  Money 's  all  nonsense,  my 
boy." 

"How  should  we  buy  bread  without  it*?" 

"Well,  yes;  we  want  it  for  that,  it  is  true." 

"And  for  meat  too." 

"Yes,  and  for  meat." 

He  smiled  quietly,  with  a  kindness  which  aston- 
ished me ;  and  pulling  my  ear,  said : 

"It  is  no  use  arguing  with  you.  You  always  get 
the  best  of  it.  I  'd  better  keep  quiet." 

Sometimes  he  broke  off  his  work,  and  sitting  beside 
me  he  would  gaze  for  a  long  time  out  of  the  window, 
watching  the  rain  patter  down  on  the  roof,  and  noting 
how  the  grass  was  growing  over  the  yard,  and  how  the 
apple  trees  were  being  stripped  of  their  leaves.  "Good- 
business"  was  niggardly  with  his  words,  but  what  he 
said  was  to  the  point;  more  often  than  not,  when  he 
wished  to  draw  my  attention  to  something,  he  nudged 
me  and  winked  instead  of  speaking.  The  yard  had 
never  been  particularly  attractive  to  me,  but  his  nudges 


MY  CHILDHOOD  189 

and  his  brief  words  seemed  to  throw  a  different  com- 
plexion on  it,  and  everything  within  sight  seemed 
worthy  of  notice.  A  kitten  ran  about,  and  halting  be- 
fore a  shining  pool  gazed  at  its  own  reflection,  lifting  its 
soft  paw  as  if  it  were  going  to  strike  it. 

"Cats  are  vain  and  distrustful,"  observed  "Good- 
business"  quietly. 

Then  there  was  the  red-gold  cock  Mamae,  who  flew 
on  to  the  garden  hedge,  balanced  himself,  shook  out 
his  wings,  and  nearly  fell;  whereupon  he  was  greatly 
put  out,  and  muttered  angrily,  stretching  out  his 
neck: 

"A  consequential  general,  and  not  over-clever  at 
that." 

Clumsy  Valei  passed,  treading  heavily  through  the 
mud,  like  an  old  horse ;  his  face,  with  its  high  cheek- 
bones, seemed  inflated  as  he  gazed,  blinking,  at  the 
sky,  from  which  the  pale  autumn  beams  fell  straight 
on  his  chest,  making  the  brass  buttons  on  his  coat  shine 
brilliantly.  The  Tartar  stood  still  and  touched  them 
with  his  crooked  fingers — "just  as  if  they  were  medals 
bestowed  on  him." 

My  attachment  to  "Good-business"  grew  apace,  and 
became  stronger  every  day,  till  I  found  that  he  was  in- 
dispensable both  on  days  when  I  felt  myself  bitterly 
aggrieved,  and  in  my  hours  of  happiness.  Although  he 
was  taciturn  himself,  he  did  not  forbid  me  to  talk  about 


190  MY  CHILDHOOD 

anything  which  came  into  my  head;  grandfather,  on  the 
other  hand,  always  cut  me  short  by  his  stern  exclama- 
tion: 

"Don't  chatter,  you  mill  of  the  devil !" 

Grandmother,  too,  was  so  full  of  her  own  ideas  that 
she  neither  listened  to  other  people's  ideas  nor  admitted 
them  into  her  mind;  but  "Good-business"  always  lis- 
tened attentively  to  my  chatter,  and  often  said  to  me 
smilingly : 

"No,  my  boy,  that  is  not  true.  That  is  an  idea  of 
your  own." 

And  his  brief  remarks  were  always  made  at  the  right 
time,  and  only  when  absolutely  necessary;  he  seemed 
to  be  able  to  pierce  the  outer  covering  of  my  heart  and 
head,  and  see  all  that  went  on,  and  even  to  see  all  the 
useless,  untrue  words  on  my  lips  before  I  had  time  to 
utter  them — he  saw  them  and  cut  them  off  with  two 
gentle  blows: 

"Untrue,  boy." 

Sometimes  I  tried  to  draw  out  his  wizard-like  abili- 
ties. I  made  up  something  and  told  it  to  him  as  if  it 
had  really  happened;  but  after  listening  for  a  time, 
he  would  shake  his  head. 

"Now — that 's  not  true,  my  boy." 

"How  do  you  know*?" 

"I  can  feel  it,  my  boy." 

When  grandmother  went  to  fetch  water  from  Syeniu 


MY  CHILDHOOD  191 

Square,  she  often  used  to  take  me  with  her ;  and  on  one 
occasion  we  saw  five  citizens  assault  a  peasant,  throw- 
ing him  on  the  ground,  and  dragging  him  about  as  dogs 
might  do  to  another  dog.  Grandmother  slipped  her 
pail  off  the  yoke,  which  she  brandished  as  she  flew 
to  the  rescue,  calling  to  me  as  she  went: 

"You  run  away  now !" 

But  I  was  frightened,  and,  running  after  her,  I  be- 
gan to  hurl  pebbles  and  large  stones  at  the  citizens, 
while  she  bravely  made  thrusts  at  them  with  the  yoke, 
striking  at  their  shoulders  and  heads.  When  other  peo- 
ple came  on  the  scene  they  ran  away,  and  grandmother 
set  to  work  to  bathe  the  injured  man's  wounds.  His 
face  had  been  trampled,  and  the  sight  of  him  as  he 
pressed  his  dirty  fingers  to  his  torn  nostrils  and  howled 
and  coughed,  while  the  blood  spurted  from  under  his 
fingers  over  grandmother's  face  and  breast,  filled  me 
with  repugnance;  she  uttered  a  cry  too,  and  trembled 
violently. 

As  soon  as  I  returned  home  I  ran  to  the  boarder  and 
began  to  tell  him  all  about  it.  He  left  off  working, 
and  stood  in  front  of  me  looking  at  me  fixedly  and 
sternly  from  under  his  glasses;  then  he  suddenly  inter- 
rupted me,  speaking  with  unusual  impressiveness : 

"That 's  a  fine  thing,  I  must  say — very  fine !" 

I  was  so  taken  up  by  the  sight  I  had  witnessed  that 
his  words  did  not  surprise  me,  and  I  went  on  with 


192  MY  CHILDHOOD 

my  story;  but  he  put  his  arm  round  me,  and  then  left 
me  and  walked  about  the  room  uncertainly. 

"That  will  do,"  he  said;  "I  don't  want  to  hear  any 
more.  You  have  said  all  that  is  needful,  my  boy — all. 
Do  you  understand?" 

I  felt  offended,  and  did  not  answer;  but  on  thinking 
the  matter  over  afterwards,  I  have  still  a  lively  recol- 
lection of  my  astonishment  at  the  discovery  that  he  had 
stopped  me  at  exactly  the  right  time.  I  had,  in  truth, 
told  all  there  was  to  tell. 

"Do  not  dwell  on  this  incident,  child;  it  is  not  a 
good  thing  to  remember,"  he  said. 

Sometimes  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  he  uttered 
words  which  I  have  never  forgotten.  I  remember  tell- 
ing him  about  my  enemy  Kliushnikov,  a  warrior  from 
New  Street — a  fat  boy  with  a  large  head,  whom  I  could 
not  conquer  in  battle,  nor  he  me.  "Good-business" 
listened  attentively  to  my  complaint,  and  then  he  said : 

"That 's  all  nonsense !  That  sort  of  strength  does 
not  count.  Real  strength  lies  in  swift  movements. 
He  who  is  swiftest  is  strongest.  See?" 

The  next  Sunday  I  used  my  fists  more  quickly,  and 
easily  conquered  Kliushnikov,  which  made  me  pay  still 
more  heed  to  what  the  boarder  said. 

"You  must  learn  to  grasp  all  kinds  of  things,  do  you 
see"?  It  is  very  difficult  to  learn  how  to  grasp." 

I  did  not  understand  him  at  all,  but  I  involuntarily 


MY  CHILDHOOD  193 

remembered  this,  with  many  other  similar  sayings ;  but 
this  one  especially,  because  in  its  simplicity  it  was  pro- 
vokingly  mysterious.  Surely  it  did  not  require  any 
extraordinary  cleverness  to  be  able  to  grasp  stones,  a 
piece  of  bread,  a  cup  or  a  hammer ! 

In  the  house,  however,  "Good-business"  became  less 
and  less  liked ;  even  the  friendly  cat  of  the  merry  lady 
would  not  jump  on  his  knees  as  she  jumped  on  the 
knees  of  the  others,  and  took  no  notice  when  he  called 
her  kindly.  I  beat  her  for  that  and  pulled  her  ears, 
and,  almost  weeping,  told  her  not  to  be  afraid  of  the 
man. 

"It  is  because  my  clothes  smell  of  acids — that  is  why 
he  will  not  come  to  me,"  he  explained;  but  I  knew  that 
every  one  else,  even  grandmother,  gave  quite  a  differ- 
ent explanation — uncharitable,  untrue,  and  injurious 
to  him. 

"Why  are  you  always  hanging  about  him  9"  de- 
manded grandmother  angrily.  "He  '11  be  teaching  you 
something  bad — you  '11  see !" 

And  grandfather  hit  me  ferociously  whenever  I 
visited  the  boarder,  who,  he  was  firmly  convinced,  was 
a  rogue. 

Naturally  I  did  not  mention  to  "Good-business"  that 
I  was  forbidden  to  make  a  friend  of  him,  but  I  did  tell 
him  frankly  what  was  said  about  him  in  the  house : 

"Grandmother  is  afraid  of  you;  she  says  you  are  a 


194  MY  CHILDHOOD 

black  magician.  And  grandfather  too — he  says  you 
are  one  of  God's  enemies,  and  that  it  is  dangerous  to 
have  you  here." 

He  moved  his  hand  about  his  head  as  if  he  were 
driving  away  flies ;  but  a  smile  spread  like  a  blush  over 
his  chalk-white  face,  and  my  heart  contracted,  and  a 
mist  seemed  to  creep  over  my  eyes. 

"I  see !"  he  said  softly.     "It  is  a  pity,  is  n't  it*?" 

"Yes." 

"It 's  a  pity,  my  lad — yes." 

Finally  they  gave  him  notice  to  quit.  One  day, 
when  I  went  to  him  after  breakfast,  I  found  him  sitting 
on  the  floor  packing  his  belongings  in  cases,  and  softly 
singing  to  himself  about  the  Rose  of  Sharon. 

"Well,  it 's  good-by  now,  my  friend;  I  am  going." 

"Why?" 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly  as  he  said: 

"Is  it  possible  you  don't  know?  This  room  is 
wanted  for  your  mother." 

"Who  said  so?' 

"Your  grandfather." 

"Then  he  told  a  lie!" 

"Good-business"  drew  me  towards  him;  and  when 
I  sat  beside  him  on  the  floor,  he  said  softly : 

"Don't  be  angry.  I  thought  that  you  knew  about  it 
and  would  not  tell  me;  and  I  thought  you  were  not 
treating  me  well." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  195 

So  that  was  why  he  had  been  sad  and  vexed  in  his 
manner. 

"Listen!"  he  went  on,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "You 
remember  when  I  told  you  not  to  come  and  see  me?" 

I  nodded. 

"You  were  offended,  were  n't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"But  I  had  no  intention  of  offending  you,  child.  I 
knew,  you  see,  that  if  you  became  friendly  with  me,  you 
would  get  into  trouble  with  your  family.  And  was  n't 
I  right?  Now,  do  you  understand  why  I  said  it?" 

He  spoke  almost  like  a  child  of  my  own  age,  and 
I  was  beside  myself  with  joy  at  his  words.  I  felt  that 
I  had  known  this  all  along,  and  I  said : 

"I  understood  that  long  ago." 

"Well,  there  it  is.  It  has  happened  as  I  said,  my 
little  dove !" 

The  pain  in  my  heart  was  almost  unbearable. 

"Why  do  none  of  them  like  you?" 

He  put  his  arm  round  me,  and  pressed  me  to  him  and 
answered,  blinking  down  at  me: 

"I  am  of  a  different  breed — do  you  see?  That's 
what  it  is.  I  am  not  like  them — " 

I  just  held  his  hands,  not  knowing  what  to  say;  in- 
capable, in  fact,  of  saying  anything. 

"Don't  be  angry!"  he  said  again;  and  then  he  whis- 
pered in  my  ear :  "And  don't  cry  either."  But  all  the 


196  MY  CHILDHOOD 

time  his  own  tears  were  flowing  freely  from  under  his 
smeared  glasses. 

After  that  we  sat,  as  usual,  in  silence,  which  was 
broken  at  rare  intervals  by  a  brief  word  or  two;  and 
that  evening  he  went,  courteously  bidding  farewell  to 
every  one,  and  hugging  me  warmly.  I  accompanied 
him  to  the  gate,  and  watched  him  drive  away  in  the 
cart,  and  being  violently  jolted  as  the  wheels  passed 
over  the  hillocks  of  frozen  mud. 

Grandmother  set  to  work  immediately  to  clean  and 
scrub  the  dirty  room,  and  I  wandered  about  from 
corner  to  corner  on  purpose  to  hinder  her. 

"Go  away !"  she  cried,  when  she  stumbled  over  me. 

"Why  did  you  send  him  away  then?" 

"Don't  talk  about  things  you  don't  understand." 

"You  are  fools — all  of  you !"  I  said. 

She  flicked  me  with  her  wet  floorcloth,  crying : 

"Are  you  mad,  you  little  wretch*?" 

"I  did  not  mean  you,  but  the  others,"  I  said,  trying 
to  pacify  her;  but  with  no  success. 

At  supper  grandfather  exclaimed : 

"Well,  thank  God  he  has  gone!  I  should  never 
have  been  surprised,  from  what  I  saw  of  him,  to  find 
him  one  day  with  a  knife  through  his  heart.  Och !  It 
was  time  he  went." 

I  broke  a  spoon  out  of  revenge,  and  then  I  relapsed 


MY  CHILDHOOD  197 

into  my  usual  state  of  sullen  endurance.  Thus  ended 
my  friendship  with  the  first  one  of  that  endless  chain 
of  friends  belonging  to  my  own  country — the  verv  best 
of  her  people. 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  IMAGINE  myself,  in  my  childhood,  as  a  hive  to 
which  all  manner  of  simple,  undistinguished  peo- 
ple brought,  as  the  bees  bring  honey,  their  knowledge 
and  thoughts  about  life,  generously  enriching  my  soul 
with  what  they  had  to  give.  The  honey  was  often 
dirty,  and  bitter,  but  it  was  all  the  same  knowledge — 
and  honey. 

After  the  departure  of  "Good-business,"  Uncle  Peter 
became  my  friend.  He  was  in  appearance  like  grand- 
father, in  that  he  was  wizened,  neat,  and  clean ;  but  he 
was  shorter  and  altogether  smaller  than  grandfather. 
He  looked  like  a  person  hardly  grown-up  dressed  up 
like  an  old  man  for  fun.  His  face  was  creased  like  a 
square  of  very  fine  leather,  and  his  comical,  lively  eyes, 
with  their  yellow  whites,  danced  amidst  these  wrinkles 
like  siskins  in  a  cage.  His  raven  hair,  now  growing 
gray,  was  curly,  his  beard  also  fell  into  ringlets,  and  he 
smoked  a  pipe,  the  smoke  from  which — the  same  color 
as  his  hair — curled  upward  into  rings  too;  his  style  of 
speech  was  florid,  and  abounded  in  quaint  sayings.  He 

always  spoke  in  a  buzzing  voice,  and  sometimes  very 

198 


MY  CHILDHOOD  199 

kindly,  but  I  always  had  an  idea  that  he  was  making 
fun  of  everybody. 

"When  I  first  went  to  her,  the  lady-countess  Tatian 
— her  name  was  Lexievna — said  to  me,  'You  shall  be 
blacksmith';  but  after  a  time  she  orders  me  to  go  and 
help  the  gardener.  'All  right,  I  don't  mind,  only  I 
did  n't  engage  to  work  as  a  laborer,  and  it  is  not  right 
that  I  should  have  to.'  Another  time  she  'd  say  'Now, 
Petrushka,  you  must  go  fishing.'  It  was  all  one  to  me 
whether  I  went  fishing  or  not,  but  I  preferred  to  say 
'good-by'  to  the  fish,  thank  you! — and  I  came  to  the 
town  as  a  drayman.  And  here  I  am,  and  have  never 
been  anything  else.  So  far  I  have  not  done  much  good 
for  myself  by  the  change.  The  only  thing  I  possess  is 
the  horse,  which  reminds  me  of  the  Countess." 

This  was  an  old  horse,  and  was  really  white,  but  one 
day  a  drunken  house  painter  had  begun  to  paint  it  in 
various  colors,  and  had  never  finished  his  job.  Its  legs 
were  dislocated,  and  altogether  it  looked  as  if  it  were 
made  of  rags  sewn  together;  the  bony  head,  with  its 
dim,  sadly  drooping  eyes,  was  feebly  attached  to  the 
carcass  by  swollen  veins  and  old,  worn-out  skin.  Uncle 
Peter  waited  upon  the  creature  with  much  respect,  and 
called  it  "Tankoe." 

"Why  do  you  call  that  animal  by  a  Christian  name?" 
asked  grandfather  one  day. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Vassili  Vassilev,  nothing  of 


200  MY  CHILDHOOD 

the  kind  —  in  all  respect  I  say  it.     There  is  no  such 
Christian  name  as  Tanka  —  but  there  is  'Tatiana'  !" 

Uncle  Peter  was  educated  and  well-read,  and  he  and 
grandfather  used  to  quarrel  as  to  which  of  the  saints 
was  the  most  holy;  and  sit  in  judgment,  each  more 
severely  than  the  other,  on  the  sinners  of  ancient  times. 
The  sinner  who  was  most  hardly  dealt  with  was  Absa- 
lom. Sometimes  the  dispute  took  a  purely  gram- 
matical form,  grandfather  saying  that  it  ought  to  be 
"sogryeshiM0#z,  bezzakonnovaM0w,  nepravdava- 
khom"  and  Uncle  Peter  insisting  that  it  was  "sogry- 


"I  say  it  one  way,  and  you  say  it  another!"  said 
grandfather  angrily,  turning  livid.  Then  he  jeered: 
"Vaska!  Skiska!" 

But  Uncle  Peter,  enveloped  in  smoke,  asked  mali- 
ciously: 

"And  what  is  the  use  of  your  'Idioms'*?  Do  you 
think  God  takes  any  notice  of  them?  What  God  says 
when  He  listens  to  our  prayers  is  :  Tray  how  you  like, 
pray  what  you  like.'  ' 

"Go  away,  Lexei  !"  shrieked  grandfather  in  a  fury, 
with  his  green  eyes  flashing. 

Peter  was  very  fond  of  cleanliness  and  tidiness. 
When  he  went  into  the  yard  he  used  to  kick  to  one 
side  any  shavings,  or  pieces  of  broken  crockery,  or 
bones  that  were  lying  about,  with  the  scornful  remark  : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  201 

"These  things  are  no  use,  and  they  get  in  the  way." 

Although  he  was  usually  talkative,  good-natured, 
and  merry,  there  were  times  when  his  eyes  became 
bloodshot  and  grew  dim  and  fixed,  like  the  eyes  of 
a  dead  person,  and  he  would  sit,  huddled  up  in  a 
corner,  morose  and  as  dumb  as  his  nephew. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Uncle  Peter*?" 

"Let  me  alone!"  he  would  say  darkly  and  grimly. 

In  one  of  the  little  houses  in  our  street  there  lived 
a  gentleman,  with  wens  on  his  forehead,  and  the  most 
extraordinary  habits;  on  Sundays  he  used  to  sit  at  the 
window  and  shoot  from  a  shot-gun  at  dogs  and  cats, 
hens  and  crows,  or  whatever  came  in  his  way  that  did 
not  please  him.  One  day  he  fired  at  the  side  of  "Good- 
business";  the  shots  did  not  pierce  his  leather  coat, 
but  some  of  them  fell  into  his  pocket.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  interested  expression  with  which  the  boarder 
regarded  the  dark-blue  shots.  Grandfather  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  make  a  complaint  about  it,  but,  throw- 
ing the  shots  into  a  corner  of  the  kitchen,  he  replied : 

"It  is  not  worth  while." 

Another  time  our  marksman  planted  a  few  shots 
in  grandfather's  leg,  and  he,  much  enraged,  got  up 
a  petition  to  the  authorities,  and  set  to  work  to  get 
the  names  of  other  sufferers  and  witnesses  in  the  street ; 
but  the  culprit  suddenly  disappeared. 

As  for  Uncle  Peter,  every  time  he  heard  the  sound 


202  MY  CHILDHOOD 

of  shooting  in  the  street — if  he  were  at  home — he  used 
to  hastily  cover  his  iron-gray  head  with  his  glossy  Sun- 
day cap,  which  had  large  ear-flaps,  and  rush  to  the 
gate.  Here  he  would  hide  his  hands  behind  his  back 
under  his  coat-tails,  which  he  would  lift  up  in  imita- 
tion of  a  cock,  and  sticking  out  his  stomach,  would 
strut  solemnly  along  the  pavement  quite  close  to  the 
marksman,  and  then  turn  back.  He  would  do  this  over 
and  over  again,  and  our  whole  household  would  be 
standing  at  the  gate;  while  the  purple  face  of  the  war- 
like gentleman  could  be  seen  at  his  window,  with  the 
blonde  head  of  his  wife  over  his  shoulder,  and  people 
coming  out  of  Betlenga  yard — only  the  gray,  dead 
house  of  the  Ovsyanikovs  showed  no  signs  of  animation. 

Sometimes  Uncle  Peter  made  these  excursions  with- 
out any  result,  the  hunter  evidently  not  looking  upon 
him  as  game  worthy  of  his  skill  in  shooting;  but  on 
other  occasions  the  double-barrelled  gun  was  discharged 
over  and  over  again. 

"Boom!     Boom!" 

With  leisurely  steps  Uncle  Peter  came  back  to  us 
and  exclaimed,  in  great  delight : 

"He  sent  every  shot  into  the  field!" 

Once  he  got  some  shot  into  his  shoulder  and  neck; 
and  grandmother  gave  him  a  lecture  while  she  was 
getting  them  out  with  a  needle : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  203 

"Why  on  earth  do  you  encourage  the  beast1?  He 
will  blind  you  one  of  these  days." 

"Impossible,  Akulina  Ivanna,"  drawled  Peter  con- 
temptuously. "He  's  no  marksman !" 

"But  why  do  you  encourage  him1?" 

"Do  you  think  I  am  encouraging  him1?  No !  I  like 
teasing  the  gentleman." 

And  looking  at  the  extracted  shot  in  his  palm,  he 
said: 

"He  's  no  marksman.  But  up  there,  at  the  house 
of  my  mistress,  the  Countess  Tatiana  Lexievna,  there 
was  an  Army  man — Marmont  Ilich.  He  was  taken 
up  most  of  the  time  with  matrimonial  duties — hus- 
bands were  in  the  same  category  as  footmen  with  her 
— and  so  he  was  kept  busy  about  her;  but  he  could 
shoot,  if  you  like — only  with  bullets  though,  grand- 
mother; he  wouldn't  shoot  with  anything  else.  He 
put  Ignashka  the  Idiot  at  forty  paces  or  thereabouts 
from  him,  with  a  bottle  tied  to  his  belt  and  placed  so 
that  it  hung  between  his  legs;  and  while  Ignashka 
stood  there  with  his  legs  apart  laughing  in  his  foolish 
way,  Marmont  Ilich  took  his  pistol  and — bang! — the 
bottle  was  smashed  to  pieces.  Only,  unfortunately 
Ignashka  swallowed  a  gadfly,  or  something,  and  gave 
a  start,  and  the  bullet  went  into  his  knee,  right  into 
the  knee-cap.  The  doctor  was  called  and  he  took  the 


204  MY  CHILDHOOD 

leg  off;  it  was  all  over  in  a  minute,  and  the  leg  was 
buried  ..." 

"But  what  about  the  idiot1?" 

"Oh,  he  was  all  right!  What  does  an  idiot  want 
with  legs  and  arms?  His  idiocy  brings  him  in  more 
than  enough  to  eat  and  drink.  Every  one  loves  idiots ; 
they  are  harmless  enough.  You  know  the  saying:  'It 
is  better  for  underlings  to  be  fools;  they  can  do  less 
harm  then.'  " 

This  sort  of  talk  did  not  astonish  grandmother,  she 
had  listened  to  it  scores  of  times,  but  it  made  me 
rather  uncomfortable,  and  I  asked  Uncle  Peter: 

"Would  that  gentleman  be  able  to  kill  any  one1?" 

"And  why  not?  Of  cou — rse  he  could!  .  .  .  He 
even  fought  a  duel.  A  Uhlan,  who  came  on  a  visit 
to  Tatiana  Lexievna,  had  a  quarrel  with  Marmont, 
and  in  a  minute  they  had  their  pistols  in  their  hands, 
and  went  out  to  the  park;  and  there  on  the  path  by 
the  pond  that  Uhlan  shot  Marmont  bang  through  the 
liver.  Then  Marmont  was  sent  to  the  churchyard,  and 
the  Uhlan  to  the  Caucasus  .  .  .  and  the  whole  affair 
was  over  in  a  very  short  time.  That  is  how  they  did 
for  themselves.  And  amongst  the  peasants,  and  the 
rest  of  them,  he  is  not  talked  of  now.  People  don't 
regret  him  much;  they  never  regretted  him  for  him- 
self .  .  .  but  all  the  same  they  did  grieve  at  one  time 
— for  his  property." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  205 

"Well,  then  they  did  n't  grieve  much,"  said  grand- 
mother. 

Uncle  Peter  agreed  with  her: 

"That 's  true !  .  .  .  His  property.  .  .  yes,  that 
was  n't  worth  much." 

He  always  bore  himself  kindly  towards  me,  spoke 
to  me  good-naturedly,  and  as  if  I  were  a  grown  person, 
and  looked  me  straight  in  the  eyes;  but  all  the  same 
there  was  something  about  him  which  I  did  not  like. 
Having  regaled  me  with  my.  favorite  jam,  he  would 
spread  my  slice  of  bread  with  what  was  left,  he  would 
bring  me  malted  gingerbread  from  the  town,  and 
always  conversed  with  me  in  a  quiet  and  serious 
tone. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  young  gentleman,  when 
you  grow  up?  Are  you  going  into  the  Army  or  the 
Civil  Service?' 

"Into  the  Army." 

"Good!  A  soldier's  life  is  not  a  hard  one  in  these 
days.  A  priest's  life  is  n't  bad  either  ...  all  he  has 
to  do  is  to  chant,  and  pray  to  God,  and  that  does  not 
take  long.  In  fact,  a  priest  has  an  easier  job  than  a 
soldier  .  .  .  but  a  fisherman's  job  is  easier  still;  that 
does  not  require  any  education  at  all,  it  is  simply  a 
question  of  habit." 

He  gave  an  amusing  imitation  of  the  fish  hovering 
round  the  bait,  and  of  the  way  perch,  mugil,  and 


206  MY  CHILDHOOD 

bream  throw  themselves  about  when  they  get  caught 
on  the  hook. 

"Now,  you  get  angry  when  grandfather  whips  you," 
he  would  say  soothingly,  "but  you  have  no  cause  to 
be  angry  at  that,  young  gentleman;  whippings  are  a 
part  of  your  education,  and  those  that  you  get  are, 
after  all,  mere  child's  play.  You  should  just  see  how 
my  mistress,  Tatiana  Lexievna,  used  to  thrash!  She 
could  do  it  all  right,  she  could !  And  she  used  to  keep 
a  man  especially  for  that — Christopher  his  name  was 
— and  he  did  his  work  so  well  that  sometimes  neigh- 
bors from  other  manor-houses  sent  a  message  to  the 
Countess:  'Please,  Tatiana  Lexievna,  send  Christopher 
to  thrash  our  footman.'  And  she  used  to  let  him 
go." 

In  his  artless  manner,  he  would  give  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  how  the  Countess,  in  a  white  muslin  frock 
with  a  gauzy,  sky-colored  handkerchief  over  her  head, 
would  sit  on  the  steps,  by  one  of  the  pillars,  in  a  red 
armchair,  while  Christopher  flogged  the  peasants,  male 
and  female,  in  her  presence. 

"And  this  Christopher  was  from  Riazan,  and  he 
looked  like  a  gipsy,  or  a  Little  Russian,  with  mus- 
taches sticking  out  beyond  his  ears,  and  his  ugly  face 
all  blue  where  he  had  shaved  his  beard.  And  either  he 
was  a  fool,  or  he  pretended  to  be  one  so  that  he  should 
not  be  asked  useless  questions.  Sometimes  he  used 


MY  CHILDHOOD  207 

to  pour  water  into  a  cup  to  catch  flies  and  cockroaches, 
which  are  a  kind  of  beetle,  and  then  he  used  to  boil 
them  over  the  fire." 

I  was  familiar  with  many  such  stories,  which  I  had 
heard  from  the  lips  of  grandmother  and  grandfather. 
Though  they  were  different,  yet  they  were  all  curi- 
ously alike;  each  one  told  of  people  being  tormented, 
jeered  at,  or  driven  away,  and  I  was  tired  of  them, 
and  as  I  did  not  wish  to  hear  any  more,  said  to  the 
cab-driver : 

"Tell  me  another  kind  of  story." 

All  his  wrinkles  were  gathered  about  his  mouth  for 
a  space,  then  they  spread  themselves  to  his  eyes,  as 
he  said  obligingly: 

"All  right,  Greedy!  Well,  we  once  had  a 
cook—" 

"Who  had?" 

"The  Countess  Tatian  Lexievna." 

"Why  do  you  call  her  Tatian *?  She  was  n't  a  man, 
was  she?" 

He  laughed  shrilly. 

"Of  course  she  was  n't.  She  was  a  lady;  but  all  the 
same  she  had  whiskers.  Dark  she  was  .  .  .  she  came 
of  a  dark  German  race  .  .  .  people  of  the  negro  type 
they  are.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  this  cook — this  is  a 
funny  story,  young  gentleman." 

And  this  "funny  story"  was  that  the  cook  had  spoiled 


208  MY  CHILDHOOD 

a  fish  pasty,  and  had  been  made  to  eat  it  all  up  him- 
self, after  which  he  had  been  taken  ill. 

"It  is  not  at  all  funny!"  I  said  angrily. 

"Well,  what  is  your  idea  of  a  funny  story*?  Come 
on !  Let 's  have  it." 

"I  don't  know—" 

"Then  hold  your  tongue !"  And  he  spun  out  another 
dreary  yarn. 

Occasionally,  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  we  received 
a  visit  from  my  cousins — the  lazy  and  melancholy 
Sascha  Michhailov,  and  the  trim,  omniscient  Sascha 
Jaakov.  Once,  when  the  three  of  us  had  made  an 
excursion  up  to  the  roof,  we  saw  a  gentleman  in  a 
green  fur-trimmed  coat  sitting  in  the  Betlenga  yard 
upon  a  heap  of  wood  against  the  wall,  and  playing 
with  some  puppies;  his  little,  yellow,  bald  head  was 
uncovered.  One  of  the  brothers  suggested  the  theft 
of  a  puppy,  and  they  quickly  evolved  an  ingenious 
plan  by  which  the  brothers  were  to  go  down  to  the 
street  and  wait  at  the  entrance  to  Betlenga  yard,  while 
I  did  something  to  startle  the  gentleman;  and  when 
he  ran  away  in  alarm  they  were  to  rush  into  the  yard 
and  seize  a  puppy. 

"But  how  am  I  to  startle  him?' 

"Spit  on  his  bald  head,"  suggested  one  of  my 
cousins. 

But  was  it  not  a  grievous  sin  to  spit  on  a  person's 


MY  CHILDHOOD  209 

head"?  However,  I  had  heard  over  and  over  again, 
and  had  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  that  they  had  done 
many  worse  things  than  that,  so  I  faithfully  performed 
my  part  of  the  contract,  with  my  usual  luck. 

There  was  a  terrible  uproar  and  scene;  a  whole 
army  of  men  and  women,  headed  by  a  young,  good- 
looking  officer,  rushed  out  of  Betlenga  House  into 
the  yard,  and  as  my  two  cousins  were,  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  outrage  was  committed,  quietly 
walking  along  the  street,  and  knew  nothing  of  my 
wild  prank,  I  was  the  only  one  to  receive  a  thrashing 
from  grandfather,  by  which  the  inhabitants  of  Bet- 
lenga House  were  completely  satisfied. 

And  as  I  lay,  all  bruised,  in  the  kitchen,  there  came 
to  me  Uncle  Peter,  dressed  in  his  best,  and  looking 
very  happy. 

"That  was  a  jolly  good  idea  of  yours,  young  gentle- 
man," he  whispered.  "That 's  just  what  the  silly  old 
goat  deserved — to  be  spit  upon!  Next  time — throw 
a  stone  on  his  rotten  head !" 

Before  me  rose  the  round,  hairless,  childlike  face 
of  the  gentleman,  and  I  remembered  how  he  had 
squeaked  feebly  and  plaintively,  just  like  the  puppies, 
as  he  had  wiped  his  yellow  pate  with  his  small  hands, 
and  I  felt  overwhelmed  with  shame,  and  full  of  hatred 
for  my  cousins ;  but  I  forgot  all  this  in  a  moment  when 
I  gazed  on  the  drayman's  wrinkled  face,  which  quivered 


210  MY  CHILDHOOD 

with  a  half-fearful,  half-disgusted  expression,  like 
grandfather's  face  when  he  was  beating  me. 

"Go  away!"  I  shrieked,  and  struck  at  him  with  my 
hands  and  feet. 

He  tittered,  and  winking  at  me  over  his  shoulder, 
went  away. 

From  that  time  I  ceased  to  have  any  desire  for  in- 
tercourse with  him;  in  fact,  I  avoided  him.  And  yet 
I  began  to  watch  his  movements  suspiciously,  with 
a  confused  idea  that  I  should  discover  something  about 
him.  Soon  after  the  incident  connected  with  the 
gentleman  of  Betlenga  House,  something  else  occurred. 
For  a  long  time  I  had  been  very  curious  about  Ovsy- 
anikov  House,  and  I  imagined  that  its  gray  exterior 
hid  a  mysterious  romance. 

Betlenga  House  was  always  full  of  bustle  and 
gaiety;  many  beautiful  ladies  lived  there,  who  were 
visited  by  officers  and  students,  and  from  it  sounds 
of  laughter  and  singing,  and  the  playing  of  musical 
instruments,  continually  proceeded.  The  very  face 
of  the  house  looked  cheerful,  with  its  brightly  polished 
window-panes. 

Grandfather  did  not  approve  of  it. 

"They  are  heretics  .  .  .  and  godless  people,  all  of 
them!"  he  said  about  its  inhabitants,  and  he  applied 
to  the  women  an  offensive  term,  which  Uncle  Peter 


MY  CHILDHOOD  211 

explained  to  me  in  words  equally  offensive  and 
malevolent. 

But  the  stern,  silent  Ovsyanikov  House  inspired 
grandfather  with  respect. 

This  one-storied  but  tall  house  stood  in  a  well-kept 
yard  overgrown  with  turf,  empty  save  for  a  well  with 
a  roof  supported  by  two  pillars,  which  stood  in  the 
middle.  The  house  seemed  to  draw  back  from  the 
street  as  if  it  wished  to  hide  from  it.  Two  of  its 
windows,  which  had  chiselled  arches,  were  at  some 
distance  from  the  ground,  and  upon  their  dust- 
smeared  panes  the  sun  fell  with  a  rainbow  effect. 
And  on  the  other  side  of  the  gateway  stood  a  store- 
house, with  a  facade  exactly  like  that  of  the  house, 
even  to  the  three  windows,  but  they  were  not  real  ones; 
the  outlines  were  built  into  the  gray  wall,  and  the 
frames  and  sashes  painted  on  with  white  paint. 
These  blind  windows  had  a  sinister  appearance,  and 
the  whole  storehouse  added  to  the  impression  which 
the  house  gave,  of  having  a  desire  to  hide  and  escape 
notice.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  mute  indignation, 
or  of  secret  pride,  about  the  whole  house,  with  its 
empty  stables,  and  its  coachhouse,  with  wide  doors, 
also  empty. 

Sometimes  a  tall  old  man,  with  shaven  chin  and 
white  mustache,  the  hair  of  which  stuck  out  stiffly 


212  MY  CHILDHOOD 

like  so  many  needles,  was  to  be  seen  hobbling  about 
the  yard.  At  other  times  another  old  man,  with 
whiskers  and  a  crooked  nose,  led  out  of  the  stables  a 
gray  mare  with  a  long  neck — a  narrow-chested  crea- 
ture with  thin  legs,  which  bowed  and  scraped  like  an 
obsequious  nun  as  soon  as  she  came  out  into  the  yard. 
The  lame  man  slapped  her  with  his  palms,  whistling, 
and  drawing  in  his  breath  noisily;  and  then  the  mare 
was  again  hidden  in  the  dark  stable.  I  used  to  think 
that  the  old  man  wanted  to  run  away  from  the  house, 
but  could  not  because  he  was  bewitched. 

Almost  every  day  from  noon  till  the  evening  three 
boys  used  to  play  in  the  yard  all  dressed  alike  in  gray 
coats  and  trousers,  with  caps  exactly  alike,  and  all  of 
them  with  round  faces  and  gray  eyes;  so  much  alike 
that  I  could  only  tell  one  from  the  other  by  their 
height. 

I  used  to  watch  them  through  a  chink  in  the  fence; 
they  could  not  see  me,  but  I  wanted  them  to  know  I 
was  there.  I  liked  the  way  they  played  together,  so 
gaily  and  amicably,  games  which  were  unfamiliar  to 
me;  I  liked  their  dress,  and  their  consideration  for 
each  other,  which  was  especially  noticeable  in  the  con- 
duct of  the  elder  ones  to  their  little  brother,  a  funny 
little  fellow,  full  of  life.  If  he  fell  down,  they 
laughed — it  being  the  custom  to  laugh  when  any  one 
has  a  fall — but  there  was  no  malice  in  their  laughter, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  213 

and  they  ran  to  help  him  up  directly;  and  if  he  made 
his  hands  or  knees  dirty,  they  wiped  his  fingers  and 
trousers  with  leaves  or  their  handkerchiefs,  and  the 
middle  boy  said  good-naturedly: 

"There,  clumsy!" 

They  never  quarreled  amongst  themselves,  never 
cheated,  and  all  three  were  agile,  strong  and  inde- 
fatigable. 

One  day  I  climbed  up  a  tree  and  whistled  to  them; 
they  stood  stock-still  for  a  moment,  then  they  calmly 
drew  close  together,  and  after  looking  up  at  me,  de- 
liberated quietly  amongst  themselves.  Thinking  that 
they  were  going  to  throw  stones  at  me,  I  slipped  to 
the  ground,  filled  my  pockets  and  the  front  of  my 
blouse  with  stones,  and  climbed  up  the  tree  again; 
but  they  were  playing  in  another  corner  of  the  yard, 
far  away  from  me,  and  apparently  had  forgotten  all 
about  me.  I  was  very  sorry  for  this;  first,  because  I 
did  not  wish  to  be  the  one  to  begin  the  war,  and 
secondly,  because  just  at  that  moment  some  one  called 
to  them  out  of  the  window : 

"You  must  come  in  now,  children." 

They  went  submissively,  but  without  haste,  in  single 
file,  like  geese. 

I  often  sat  on  the  tree  over  the  fence  hoping  that 
they  would  ask  me  to  play  with  them;  but  they  never 
did.  But  in  spirit  I  was  always  playing  with  them, 


214  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  I  was  so  fascinated  by  the  games  sometimes  that 
I  shouted  and  laughed  aloud ;  whereupon  all  three 
would  look  at  me  and  talk  quietly  amongst  them- 
selves, whilst  I,  overcome  with  confusion,  would  let 
myself  drop  to  the  ground. 

One  day  they  were  playing  hide-and-seek,  and  when 
it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  middle  brother  to  hide,  he 
stood  in  the  corner  by  the  storehouse  and  shut  his 
eyes  honestly,  without  attempting  to  peep,  while  his 
brothers  ran  to  hide  themselves.  The  elder  one  nimbly 
and  swiftly  climbed  into  a  broad  sledge  which  was 
kept  in  a  shed  against  the  storehouse,  but  the  youngest 
one  ran  in  a  comical  fashion  round  and  round  the  well, 
flustered  by  not  knowing  where  to  hide. 

"One—"  shouted  the  elder  one.     "Two—" 

The  little  boy  jumped  on  the  edge  of  the  well, 
seized  the  rope,  and  stepped  into  the  bucket,  which, 
striking  once  against  the  edge  with  a  dull  sound,  dis- 
appeared. I  was  stupefied,  as  I  saw  how  quickly  and 
noiselessly  the  well-oiled  wheel  turned,  but  I  realized 
in  a  moment  the  possibilities  of  the  situation,  and  I 
jumped  down  into  the  yard  crying: 

"He  has  fallen  into  the  well !" 

The  middle  boy  and  I  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the 
well  at  the  same  time;  he  clutched  at  the  rope  and, 
feeling  himself  drawn  upwards,  loosed  his  hands.  I 


MY  CHILDHOOD  215 

was  just  in  time  to  catch  the  rope,  and  the  elder  brother, 
having  come  up,  helped  me  to  draw  up  the  bucket, 
saying : 

"Gently,  please !" 

We  quickly  pulled  up  the  little  boy,  who  was  very 
frightened;  there  were  drops  of  blood  on  the  fingers 
of  his  right  hand,  and  his  cheek  was  severely  grazed. 
He  was  wet  to  the  waist,  and  his  face  was  overspread 
with  a  bluish  pallor;  but  he  smiled,  then  shuddered, 
and  closed  his  eyes  tightly,  then  smiled  again,  and  said 
slowly : 

"Howe— ver  did  I  fa— all?' 

"You  must  have  been  mad  to  do  such  a  thing!" 
said  the  middle  brother,  putting  his  arm  round  him 
and  wiping  the  blood  off  his  face  with  a  handkerchief; 
and  the  elder  one  said  frowning: 

"We  had  better  go  in.     We  can't  hide  it  anyhow — " 

"Will  you  be  whipped?"  I  asked. 

He  nodded,  and  then  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand : 

"How  quickly  you  ran  here !" 

I  was  delighted  by  his  praise,  but  I  had  no  time 
to  take  his  hand  for  he  turned  away  to  speak  to  his 
brothers  again. 

"Let  us  go  in,  or  he  will  take  cold.  We  will  say 
that  he  fell  down,  but  we  need  not  say  anything  about 
the  well." 


216  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"No,"  agreed  the  youngest,  shuddering.  "We 
will  say  I  fell  in  a  puddle,  shall  we*?"  And  they 
went  away. 

All  this  happened  so  quickly  that  when  I  looked  at 
the  branch  from  which  I  had  sprung  into  the  yard, 
it  was  still  shaking  and  throwing  its  yellow  leaves 
about. 

The  brothers  did  not  come  into  the  yard  again  for 
a  week,  and  when  they  appeared  again  they  were 
more  noisy  than  before;  when  the  elder  one  saw  me 
in  the  tree  he  called  out  to  me  kindly: 

"Come  here  and  play  with  us." 

We  gathered  together,  under  the  projecting  roof  of 
the  storehouse,  in  the  old  sledge,  and  having  surveyed 
one  another  thoughtfully,  we  held  a  long  conversation. 

"Did  they  whip  you?"  I  asked. 

"Rather!" 

It  was  hard  for  me  to  believe  that  these  boys  were 
whipped  like  myself,  and  I  felt  aggrieved  about  it  for 
their  sakes. 

"Why  do  you  catch  birds'?"  asked  the  youngest. 

"Because  I  like  to  hear  them  sing." 

"But  you  ought  not  to  catch  them;  why  don't  you 
let  them  fly  about  as  they  like  to?" 

"Well,  I  'm  not  going  to,  so  there !" 

"Won't  you  just  catch  one  then  and  give  it  to  me?" 

"To  you!  .  .  .  What  kind?" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  217 

"A  lively  one,  in  a  cage." 

"A  siskin  .  .  .  that 's  what  you  want." 

"The  cat  would  eat  it,"  said  the  youngest  one; 
"and  besides,  papa  would  not  allow  us  to  have  it." 

"No,  he  would  n't  allow  it,"  agreed  the  elder. 

"Have  you  a  mother?" 

"No,"  said  the  eldest,  but  the  middle  one  corrected 
him: 

"We  have  a  mother,  but  she  is  not  ours  really.  Ours 
is  dead." 

"And  the  other  is  called  a  stepmother*?"  I  said,  and 
the  elder  nodded  "Yes." 

And  they  all  three  looked  thoughtful,  and  their  faces 
were  clouded.  I  knew  what  a  stepmother  was  like 
from  the  stories  grandmother  used  to  tell  me,  and  I 
understood  that  sudden  thoughtfulness.  There  they 
sat,  all  close  together,  as  much  alike  as  a  row  of  peas 
in  a  pod;  and  I  remembered  the  witch-stepmother  who 
took  the  place  of  the  real  mother  by  means  of  a  trick. 

"Your  real  mother  will  come  back  to  you  again,  see 
if  she  does  n't,"  I  assured  them. 

The  elder  one  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"How  can  she  if  she  is  dead*?  Such  things  don't 
happen." 

"Don't  happen"?  Good  Lord !  how  many  times  have 
the  dead,  even  when  they  have  been  hacked  to  pieces, 
come  to  life  again  when  sprinkled  with  living  water*? 


218  MY  CHILDHOOD 

How  many  times  has  death  been  neither  real,  nor  the 
work  of  God,  but  simply  the  evil  spell  cast  by  a  wizard 
or  a  witch !" 

I  began  to  tell  grandmother's  stories  to  them  ex- 
citedly; but  the  eldest  laughed  at  first,  and  said  under 
his  breath : 

"We  know  all  about  those  fairy-tales !" 

His  brothers  listened  in  silence;  the  little  one  with 
his  lips  closely  shut  and  pouting,  and  the  middle  one 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  holding  his  brother's 
hand  which  was  round  his  neck. 

The  evening  was  far  advanced,  red  clouds  hung 
over  the  roof,  when  suddenly  there  appeared  before 
us  the  old  man  with  the  white  mustache  and  cinna- 
mon-colored clothes,  long,  like  those  worn  by  a  priest, 
and  a  rough  fur  cap. 

"And  who  may  this  be?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  me. 

The  elder  boy  stood  up  and  nodded  his  head  in  the 
direction  of  grandfather's  house : 

"He  comes  from  there." 

"Who  invited  him  in  here*?" 

The  boys  silently  climbed  down  from  the  sledge, 
and  went  into  the  house,  reminding  me  more  than  ever 
of  a  flock  of  geese. 

The  old  man  gripped  my  shoulder  like  a  vice  and 
propelled  me  across  the  yard  to  the  gate.  I  felt  like 
crying  through  sheer  terror,  but  he  took  such  long, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  219 

quick  steps  that  before  I  had  time  to  cry  we  were  in 
the  street,  and  he  stood  at  the  little  gate  raising  his 
finger  at  me  threateningly,  as  he  said : 

"Don't  you  dare  to  come  near  me  again !" 

I  flew  into  a  rage. 

"I  never  did  want  to  come  near  you,  you  old 
devil !" 

Once  more  I  was  seized  by  his  long  arm  and  he 
dragged  me  along  the  pavement  as  he  asked  in  a  voice 
which  was  like  the  blow  of  a  hammer  on  my  head : 

"Is  your  grandfather  at  home*?" 

To  my  sorrow  he  proved  to  be  at  home,  and  he 
stood  before  the  minacious  old  man,  with  his  head 
thrown  back  and  his  beard  thrust  forward,  looking 
up  into  the  dull,  round,  fishy  eyes  as  he  said  hastily : 

"His  mother  is  away,  you  see,  and  I  am  a  busy 
man,  so  there  is  no  one  to  look  after  him;  so  I  hope 
you  will  overlook  it  this  time,  Colonel." 

The  Colonel  raved  and  stamped  about  the  house 
like  a  madman,  and  he  was  hardly  gone  before  I  was 
thrown  into  Uncle  Peter's  cart. 

"In  trouble  again,  young  gentleman1?"  he  asked  as 
he  unharnessed  the  horse.  "What  are  you  being  pun- 
ished for  now*?" 

When  I  told  him,  he  flared  up. 

"And  what  do  you  want  to  be  friends  with  them 
for*?"  he  hissed.  "The  young  serpents!  Look  what 


220  MY  CHILDHOOD 

they  have  done  for  you !  It  is  your  turn  now  to  blow 
on  them ;  see  you  do  it." 

He  whispered  like  this  for  a  long  time,  and  all  sore 
from  my  beating  as  I  was,  I  was  inclined  to  listen  to 
him  at  first;  but  his  wrinkled  face  quivered  in  a  way 
which  became  more  and  more  repellent  to  me  every 
moment,  and  reminded  me  that  the  other  boys  would 
be  beaten  too,  and  undeservedly,  in  my  opinion. 

"They  ought  not  to  be  whipped;  they  are  all  good 
boys.  As  for  you,  every  word  you  say  is  a  lie,"  I 
said. 

He  looked  at  me,  and  then  without  any  warning 
cried : 

"Get  out  of  my  cart !" 

"You  fool !"  I  yelled,  jumping  down  to  the  ground. 

He  ran  after  me  across  the  yard,  making  unsuccess- 
ful attempts  to  catch  me,  and  yelling  in  an  uncanny 
voice : 

"I  am  a  fool,  am  I?  I  tell  lies,  do  I?  You  wait 
till  I  get  you !" 

At  this  moment  grandmother  came  out  of  the  kitchen, 
and  I  rushed  to  her. 

"This  little  wretch  gives  me  no  peace!  I  am  five 
times  older  than  he  is,  yet  he  dares  to  come  and  revile 
me  .  .  .  and  my  mother  .  .  .  and  all." 

Hearing  him  lie  like  this  so  brazenly,  I  lost  my 
presence  of  mind,  and  could  do  nothing  but  stand 


MY  CHILDHOOD  221 

staring  at  him  stupidly;  but  grandmother  replied 
sternly : 

"Now  you  are  telling  lies,  Peter,  there  is  no  doubt 
about  it.  He  would  never  be  offensive  to  you  or 
any  one." 

Grandfather  would  have  believed  the  drayman! 

From  that  day  there  was  silent  but  none  the  less 
bitter  warfare  between  us;  he  would  try  to  hit  me 
with  his  reins,  without  seeming  to  do  it,  he  would  let 
my  birds  out  of  their  cage,  and  sometimes  the  cat 
would  catch  and  eat  them,  and  he  would  complain 
about  me  to  grandfather  on  every  possible  occasion, 
and  was  always  believed.  I  was  confirmed  in  my  first 
impression  of  him — that  he  was  just  a  boy  like  my- 
self disguised  as  an  old  man.  I  unplaited  his  bast 
shoes,  or  rather  I  ripped  a  little  inside  the  shoes  so 
that  as  soon  as  he  put  them  on  they  began  to  fall  to 
pieces;  one  day  I  put  some  pepper  in  his  cap  which  set 
him  sneezing  for  a  whole  hour,  and  trying  with  all  his 
might  not  to  leave  off  his  work  because  of  it. 

On  Sundays  he  kept  me  under  observation,  and 
more  than  once  he  caught  me  doing  what  was  for- 
bidden— talking  to  the  Ovsyanikovs,  and  went  and  told 
tales  to  grandfather. 

My  acquaintance  with  the  Ovsyanikovs  progressed, 
and  gave  me  increasing  pleasure.  On  a  little  winding 
pathway  between  the  wall  of  grandfather's  house  and 


222  MY  CHILDHOOD 

the  Ovsyanikovs'  fence  grew  elms  and  lindens,  with 
some  thick  elder  bushes,  under  cover  of  which  I  bored 
a  semicircular  hole  in  the  fence,  and  the  brothers  used 
to  come  in  turns,  or  perhaps  two  of  them  together,  and, 
squatting  or  kneeling  at  this  hole,  we  held  long  con- 
versations in  subdued  tones ;  while  one  of  them  watched 
lest  the  Colonel  should  come  upon  us  unawares. 

They  told  me  how  miserable  their  existence  was,  and 
it  made  me  sad  to  listen  to  them;  they  talked  about 
my  caged  birds,  and  of  many  childish  matters,  but  they 
never  spoke  a  single  word  about  their  stepmother  or 
their  father,  at  least,  as  far  as  I  can  remember.  More 
often  than  not  they  asked  me  to  tell  them  a  story,  and 
I  faithfully  reproduced  one  of  grandmother's  tales,  and 
if  I  forgot  anything,  I  would  ask  them  to  wait  while 
I  ran  to  her  and  refreshed  my  memory.  This  pleased 
her. 

"I  told  them  a  lot  about  grandmother,  and  the  eldest 
boy  remarked  once  with  a  deep  sigh : 

"Your  grandmother  seems  to  be  good  in  every  way. 
.  .  .  We  had  a  good  grandmother  too,  once." 

He  often  spoke  sadly  like  this,  and  spoke  of  things 
which  had  happened  as  if  he  had  lived  a  hundred  years 
instead  of  eleven.  I  remember  that  his  hands  were 
narrow,  and  his  ringers  very  slender  and  delicate,  and 
that  his  eyes  were  kind  and  bright,  like  the  lights  of  the 
church  lamps.  His  brothers  were  lovable  too;  they 


MY  CHILDHOOD  223 

seemed  to  inspire  confidence  and  to  make  one  want  to 
do  the  things  they  liked;  but  the  eldest  one  was  my 
favorite. 

Often  I  was  so  absorbed  in  our  conversations  that  I 
did  not  notice  Uncle  Peter  till  he  was  close  upon  us, 
and  the  sound  of  his  voice  sent  us  flying  in  all  direc- 
tions as  he  exclaimed: 

"A— gai— n<?" 

I  noticed  that  his  fits  of  taciturnity  and  moroseness 
became  more  frequent,  and  I  very  soon  learned  to  see 
at  a  glance  what  mood  he  was  in  when  he  returned 
from  work.  As  a  rule  he  opened  the  gate  in  a  lei- 
surely manner,  and  its  hinges  creaked  with  a  long- 
drawn-out,  lazy  sound ;  but  when  he  was  in  a  bad  mood, 
they  gave  a  sharp  squeak,  as  if  they  were  crying  out  in 
pain. 

His  dumb  nephew  had  been  married  some  time  and 
had  gone  to  live  in  the  country,  so  Peter  lived  alone 
in  the  stables,  in  a  low  stall  with  a  broken  window  and 
a  close  smell  of  hides,  tar,  sweat  and  tobacco;  and  be- 
cause of  that  smell  I  would  never  enter  his  dwelling- 
place.  He  had  taken  to  sleep  with  his  lamp  burning, 
and  grandfather  greatly  objected  to  the  habit. 

"You  see !     You  '11  burn  me  out,  Peter." 

"No,  I  shan't.  Don't  you  worry.  I  stand  *  the 
lamp  in  a  basin  of  water  at  night,"  he  would  reply, 
with  a  sidelong  glance. 


224  MY  CHILDHOOD 

He  seemed  to  look  askance  at  every  one  now,  and 
had  long  given  over  attending  grandmother's  eve- 
nings and  bringing  her  jam;  his  face  seemed  to  be 
shriveling,  his  wrinkles  became  much  deeper,  and  as  he 
walked  he  swayed  from  side  to  side  and  shuffled  his 
feet  like  a  sick  person. 

One  week-day  morning  grandfather  and  I  were  clear- 
ing away  the  snow  in  the  yard,  there  having  been  a 
heavy  fall  that  night,  when  suddenly  the  latch  of  the 
gate  clanged  loudly  and  a  policeman  entered  the  yard, 
closing  the  gate  by  setting  his  back  against  it  while 
he  beckoned  to  grandfather  with  a  fat,  gray  finger. 
When  grandfather  went  to  him  the  policeman  bent 
down  so  that  his  long-pointed  nose  looked  exactly  as 
if  it  were  chiseling  grandfather's  forehead,  and  said 
something,  but  in  such  a  low  tone  that  I  could  not 
hear  the  words;  but  grandfather  answered  quickly: 

"Here?     When?     Good  God!" 

And  suddenly  he  cried,  jumping  about  comically: 

"God  bless  us!     Is  it  possible*?" 

"Don't  make  so  much  noise,"  said  the  policeman 
sternly. 

Grandfather  looked  round  and  saw  me. 

"Put  away  your  spade,  and  go  indoors,"  he 
said. 

I  hid  myself  in  a  corner  and  saw  them  go  to  the 
drayman's  stall,  and  I  saw  the  policeman  take  off  his 


MY  CHILDHOOD  225 

right  glove  and  strike  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  with 
it  as  he  said: 

"He  knows  we  're  after  him.  He  left  the  horse  to 
wander  about,  and  he  is  hiding  here  somewhere." 

I  rushed  into  the  kitchen  to  tell  grandmother  all 
about  it;  she  was  kneading  dough  for  bread,  and  her 
floured  he'ad  was  bobbing  up  and  down  as  she  listened 
to  me,  and  then  said  calmly: 

"He  has  been  stealing  something,  I  suppose.  You 
run  away  now.  What  is  it  to  do  with  you*?" 

When  I  went  out  into  the  yard  again  grandfather 
was  standing  at  the  gate  with  his  cap  off,  and  his  eyes 
raised  to  heaven,  crossing  himself.  His  face  looked 
angry;  he  was  bristling  with  anger,  in  fact,  and  one 
of  his  legs  was  trembling. 

"I  told  you  to  go  indoors!"  he  shouted,  stamping 
at  me;  but  he  came  with  me  into  the  kitchen,  calling: 
"Come  here,  Mother !" 

They  went  into  the  next  room,  and  carried  on  a 
long  conversation  in  whispers;  but  when  grandmother 
came  back  to  the  kitchen  I  saw  at  once  from  her  ex- 
pression that  something  dreadful  had  happened. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  frightened?"  I  asked  her. 

"Hold  your  tongue !"  she  said  quietly. 

All  day  long  there  was  an  oppressive  feeling  about 
the  house.  Grandfather  and  grandmother  frequently 
exchanged  glances  of  disquietude,  and  spoke  together, 


226  MY  CHILDHOOD 

softly  uttering  unintelligible,  brief  words  which  in- 
tensified the  feeling  of  unrest. 

"Light  lamps  all  over  the  house,  Mother,"  grand- 
father ordered,  coughing. 

We  dined  without  appetite,  yet  hurriedly,  as  if  we 
were  expecting  some  one.  Grandfather  was  tired,  and 
puffed  out  his  cheeks  as  he  grumbled  in  a  squeaky 
voice : 

"The  power  of  the  devil  over  man!  .  .  .  You  see 
it  everywhere  .  .  .  even  our  religious  people  and  ec- 
clesiastics! .  .  .  What  is  the  reason  of  it,  eh*?" 

Grandmother  sighed. 

The  hours  of  that  silver-gray  winter's  day  dragged 
wearily  on,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  seemed 
to  become  increasingly  disturbed  and  oppressive.  Be- 
fore the  evening  another  policeman  came,  a  red,  fat 
man,  who  sat  by  the  stove  in  the  kitchen  and  dozed, 
and  when  grandmother  asked  him :  "How  did  they  find 
this  out*?"  he  answered  in  a  thick  voice:  "We  find  out 
everything,  so  don't  you  worry  yourself!" 

I  sat  at  the  window,  I  remember,  warming  an  old 
two-kopeck  piece  in  my  mouth,  preparatory  to  an  at- 
tempt to  make  an  impression  on  the  frozen  window- 
panes  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon.  All  of  a  sudden 
there  came  a  dreadful  noise  from  the  vestibule,  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  Petrovna  shrieked  de- 
liriously : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  227 

"Look  and  see  what  you  've  got  out  there !" 

Catching  sight  of  the  policeman,  she  darted  back 
into  the  vestibule;  but  he  caught  her  by  the  skirt,  and 
cried  fearfully: 

"Wait!  Who  are  you?  What  are  we  to  look 
for?" 

Suddenly  brought  to  a  halt  on  the  threshold,  she 
fell  on  her  knees  and  began  to  scream;  and  her  words 
and  her  tears  seemed  to  choke  her : 

"I  saw  it  when  I  went  to  milk  the  cows  .  .  .  what 
is  that  thing  that  looks  like  a  boot  in  the  Kashmirins' 
garden?  I  said  to  myself — " 

But  at  this  grandfather  stamped  his  foot  and 
shouted : 

"You  are  lying,  you  fool !  You  could  not  see  any- 
thing in  our  garden,  the  fence  is  too  high  and  there  are 
no  crevices.  You  are  lying;  there  is  nothing  in  our 
garden," 

"Little  Father,  it  is  true !"  howled  Petrovna,  stretch- 
ing out  one  hand  to  him,  and  pressing  the  other  to  her 
head.  "It  is  true,  little  Father  .  .  .  should  I  lie  about 
such  a  thing?  There  were  footprints  leading  to  your 
fence,  and  the  snow  was  all  trampled  in  one  place,  and 
I  went  and  looked  through  the  fence  and  I  saw  .  .  . 
him  .  .  .  lying  there  .  .  ." 

"Who?     Who?" 

This  question  was  repeated  over  and  over  again, 


228  MY  CHILDHOOD 

but  nothing  more  was  to  be  got  out  of  her.  Sud- 
denly they  all  made  a  dash  for  the  garden,  jos- 
tling each  other  as  if  they  had  gone  mad;  and  there, 
by  the  pit,  with  the  snow  softly  spread  over  him, 
lay  Uncle  Peter,  with  his  back  against  the  burnt 
beam  and  his  head  fallen  on  his  chest.  Under 
his  right  ear  was  a  deep  gash,  red,  like  a  mouth, 
from  which  jagged  pieces  of  flesh  stuck  out  like 
teeth. 

I  shut  my  eyes  in  horror  at  the  sight,  but  I  could 
see,  through  my  eyelashes,  the  harness-maker's  knife, 
which  I  knew  so  well,  lying  on  Uncle  Peter's  knees, 
clutched  in  the  dark  fingers  of  his  right  hand;  his  left 
hand  was  cut  off  and  was  sinking  into  the  snow. 
Under  the  drayman  the  snow  had  thawed,  so  that  his 
diminutive  body  was  sunk  deep  in  the  soft,  sparkling 
down,  and  looked  even  more  childlike  than  when  he 
was  alive.  On  the  right  side  of  the  body  a  strange 
red  design,  resembling  a  bird,  had  been  formed  on  the 
snow ;  but  on  the  left  the  snow  was  untouched,  and  had 
remained  smooth  and  dazzingly  bright.  The  head  had 
fallen  forward  in  an  attitude  of  submission,  with  the 
chin  pressed  against  the  chest,  and  crushing  the  thick 
curly  beard;  and  amidst  the  red  streams  of  congealed 
blood  on  the  breast  there  lay  a  large  brass  cross.  The 
noise  they  were  all  making  seemed  to  set  my  head  spin- 
ning. Petrovna  never  left  off  shrieking,  the  police- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  229 

man  shouted  orders  to  Valei  as  he  sent  him  on  an  errand, 
and  grandfather  cried: 

"Take  care  not  to  tread*  in  his  footprints !" 

But  he  suddenly  knit  his  brows,  and  looking  on  the 
ground  said  in  a  loud,  imperious  tone  to  the  police- 
man :  "There  is  nothing  for  you  to  kick  up  a  row  about, 
Constable!  This  is  God's  affair  ...  a  judgment 
from  God  .  .  .  yet  you  must  be  fussing  about  some 
nonsense  or  other — bah!" 

And  at  once  a  hush  fell  on  them  all;  they  stood 
still  and,  taking  in  a  long  breath,  crossed  themselves. 
Several  people  now  came  hastily  into  the  garden  from 
the  yard.  They  climbed  over  Petrovna's  fence  and 
some  of  them  fell  down,  and  uttered  exclamations  of 
pain ;  but  for  all  that  they  were  quite  quiet  until  grand- 
father cried  in  a  voice  of  despair: 

"Neighbors!  why  are  you  spoiling  my  raspberry 
bushes?  Have  you  no  consciences'?" 

Grandmother,  sobbing  violently,  took  my  hand  and 
brought  me  into  the  house. 

"What  did  he  do?"  I  asked. 

"Couldn't  you  see?"  she  answered. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening,  until  far  into  the  night, 
strangers  tramped  in  and  out  of  the  kitchen  and  the 
other  rooms  talking  loudly;  the  police  were  in  com- 
mand, and  a  man  who  looked  like  a  deacon  was  mak- 
ing notes,  and  quacking  like  a  duck : 


230  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Wha— at?     Wha— at?" 

Grandmother  offered  them  all  tea  in  the  kitchen, 
where,  sitting  at  the  table,  was  a  rotund,  whiskered  in- 
dividual, marked  with  smallpox,  who  was  saying  in 
a  shrill  voice : 

"His  real  name  we  don't  know  ...  all  that  we 
can  find  out  is  that  his  birthplace  was  Elatma.  As 
for  the  Deaf  Mute  .  .  .  that  is  only  a  nickname  .  .  . 
he  was  not  deaf  and  dumb  at  all  ...  he  knew  all 
about  the  business.  .  .  .  And  there  's  a  third  man  in 
it  too  ...  we  've  got  to  find  him  yet.  They  have 
been  robbing  churches  for  a  long  time;  that  was  their 
lay." 

"Good  Lord!"  ejaculated  Petrovna,  very  red,  and 
perspiring  profusely. 

As  for  me,  I  lay  on  the  ledge  of  the  stove  and  looked 
down  on  them,  and  thought  how  short  and  fat  and 
dreadful  they  all  were. 


CHAPTER  X 

EARLY  one  Saturday  morning  I  made  my  way  to 
Petrovna's  kitchen-garden  to  catch  robins.  I 
was  there  a  long  time,  because  the  pert  red-breasts  re- 
fused to  go  into  the  trap ;  tantalizingly  beautiful,  they 
hopped  playfully  over  the  silvery  frozen  snow,  and 
flew  on  to  the  branches  of  the  frost-covered  bushes, 
scattering  the  blue  snow-crystals  all  about.  It  was 
such  a  pretty  sight  that  I  forgot  my  vexation  at  my 
lack  of  success;  in  fact,  I  was  not  a  very  keen  sports- 
man, for  I  took  more  pleasure  in  the  incidents  of  the 
chase  than  in  its  results,  and  my  greatest  delight  was 
to  observe  the  ways  of  the  birds  and  think  about  them. 
I  was  quite  happy  sitting  alone  on  the  edge  of  a  snowy 
field  listening  to  the  birds  chirping  in  the  crystal  still- 
ness of  the  frosty  day,  when,  faintly,  in  the  distance,  I 
heard  the  fleeting  sounds  of  the  bells  of  a  troika — like 
the  melancholy  song  of  a  skylark  in  the  Russian  winter. 
I  was  benumbed  by  sitting  in  the  snow,  and  I  felt 
that  my  ears  were  frost-bitten,  so  I  gathered  up  the 
trap  and  the  cages,  climbed  over  the  wall  into  grand- 
father's garden,  and  made  my  way  to  the  house. 

The  gate  leading  to  the  street  was  open,  and  a  man 

231 


232  MY  CHILDHOOD 

of  colossal  proportions  was  leading  three  steaming 
horses,  harnessed  to  a  large,  closed  sledge,  out  of  the 
yard,  whistling  merrily  the  while.  My  heart  leaped. 

"Whom  have  you  brought  here*?" 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me  from  under  his  arms, 
and  jumped  on  to  the  driver's  seat  before  he  replied: 

"The  priest." 

But  I  was  not  convinced ;  and  if  it  was  the  priest,  he 
must  have  come  to  see  one  of  the  lodgers. 

"Gee-up !"  cried  the  driver,  and  he  whistled  gaily  as 
he  slashed  at  the  horses  with  his  reins. 

The  horses  tore  across  the  fields,  and  I  stood  look- 
ing after  them;  then  I  closed  the  gate.  The  first  thing 
I  heard  as  I  entered  the  empty  kitchen  was  my  mother's 
energetic  voice  in  the  adjoining  room,  saying  very  dis- 
tinctly : 

"What  is  the  matter  now*?  Do  you  want  to  kill 
me?' 

Without  taking  off  my  outdoor  clothes,  I  threw 
down  the  cages  and  ran  into  the  vestibule,  where  I 
collided  with  grandfather;  he  seized  me  by  the  shoul- 
der, looked  into  my  face  with  wild  eyes,  and  swal- 
lowing with  difficulty,  said  hoarsely : 

"Your  mother  has  come  back  ...  go  to  her  .  .  . 
wait  ...  !"  He  shook  me  so  hard  that  I  was  nearly 
taken  off  my  feet,  and  reeled  against  the  door  of  the 
room.  "Goon!  .  .  Go  .  !" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  233 

I  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  protected  by  felt 
and  oilcloth,  but  it  was  some  time  before  my  hand, 
benumbed  with  cold,  and  trembling  with  nervousness, 
found  the  latch;  and  when  at  length  I  softly  entered, 
I  halted  on  the  threshold,  dazed  and  bewildered. 

"Here  he  is!"  said  mother.  "Lord!  how  big  he 
is  grown.  Why,  don't  you  know  me*?  .  .  .  What  a 
way  you  've  dressed  him !  .  .  .  And,  yes,  his  ears  are 
going  white!  Make  haste,  Mama,  and  get  some 
goose-grease." 

She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  bending  over 
me  as  she  took  off  my  outdoor  clothes,  and  turning 
me  about  as  if  I  were  nothing  more  than  a  ball;  her 
massive  figure  was  clothed  in  a  warm,  soft,  beautiful 
dress,  as  full  as  a  man's  cloak,  which  was  fastened  by 
black  buttons,  running  obliquely  from  the  shoulder  to 
the  hem  of  the  skirt.  I  had  never  seen  anything  like 
it  before. 

Her  face  seemed  smaller  than  it  used  to  be,  and 
her  eyes  larger  and  more  sunken;  while  her  hair 
seemed  to  be  of  a  deeper  gold.  As  she  undressed  me, 
she  threw  the  garments  across  the  threshold,  her  red 
lips  curling  in  disgust,  and  all  the  time  her  voice  rang 
out: 

"Why  don't  you  speak"?  Are  n't  you  glad  to  see 
me"?  Phoo !  what  a  dirty  shirt.  .  .  ." 

Then  she  rubbed  my  ears  with  goose-grease,  which 


234  MY  CHILDHOOD 

hurt;  but  such  a  fragrant,  pleasant  odor  came  from  her 
while  she  was  doing  it,  that  the  pain  seemed  less  than 
usual. 

I  pressed  close  to  her,  looking  up  into  her  eyes, 
too  moved  to  speak,  and  through  her  words  I  could 
hear  grandmother's  low,  unhappy  voice: 

"He  is  so  self-willed  ...  he  has  got  quite  out  of 
hand.  He  is  not  afraid  of  grandfather,  even.  .  .  . 
Oh,  Varia!  .  .  .  Varia!" 

"Don't  whine,  Mother,  for  goodness'  sake;  it  does  n't 
make  things  any  better." 

Everything  looked  small  and  pitiful  and  old  beside 
mother.  I  felt  old  too,  as  old  as  grandfather. 

Pressing  me  to  her  knees,  and  smoothing  my  hair 
with  her  warm,  heavy  hand,  she  said: 

"He  wants  some  one  strict  over  him.  And  it  is  time 
he  went  to  school.  .  .  .  You  will  like  to  learn  lessons, 
won't  you*?" 

"I  've  learned  all  I  want  to  know." 

"You  will  have  to  learn  a  little  more.  .  .  .  Why! 
How  strong  you  've  grown !"  And  she  laughed  heart- 
ily in  her  deep  contralto  tones  as  she  played  with  me. 

When  grandfather  came  in,  pale  as  ashes,  with  blood- 
shot eyes,  and  bristling  with  rage,  she  put  me  from  her 
and  asked  in  a  loud  voice: 

"Well,  what  have  you  settled,  Father*?  Am  I  to 
go?" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  235 

He  stood  at  the  window  scraping  the  ice  off  the 
panes  with  his  finger-nails,  and  remained  silent  for  a 
long  while.  The  situation  was  strained  and  painful, 
and,  as  was  usual  with  me  in  such  moments  of  tension, 
my  body  felt  as  if  it  were  all  eyes  and  ears,  and  some- 
thing seemed  to  swell  within  my  breast,  causing  an  in- 
tense desire  to  scream. 

"Lexei,  leave  the  room!"  said  grandfather  roughly. 

"Why*?"  asked  mother,  drawing  me  to  her  again. 
"You  shall  not  go  away  from  this  place.  I  forbid 
it!"  Mother  stood  up,  gliding  up  the  room,  just  like 
a  rosy  cloud,  and  placed  herself  behind  grandfather. 

"Listen  to  me,  Papasha — " 

He  turned  upon  her,  shrieking  "Shut  up !" 

"I  won't  have  you  shouting  at  me,"  said  mother 
coolly. 

Grandmother  rose  from  the  couch,  raising  her  finger 
admonishingly. 

"Now,  Varvara!" 

And  grandfather  sat  down,  muttering: 

"Wait  a  bit!  I  want  to  know  who — ?  Eh*?  Who 
was  it?  ...  How  did  it  happen1?" 

And  suddenly  he  roared  out  in  a  voice  which  did 
not  seem  to  belong  to  him : 

"You  have  brought  shame  upon  me,  Varka!" 

"Go  out  of  the  room!"  grandmother  said  to  me; 
and  I  went  into  the  kitchen,  feeling  as  if  I  were  being 


236  MY  CHILDHOOD 

suffocated,  climbed  on  to  the  stove,  and  stayed  there  a 
long  time  listening  to  their  conversation,  which  was 
audible  through  the  partition.  They  either  all  talked 
at  once,  interrupting  one  another,  or  else  fell  into  a  long 
silence  as  if  they  had  fallen  asleep.  The  subject  of 
their  conversation  was  a  baby,  lately  bom  to  my  mother 
and  given  into  some  one's  keeping;  but  I  could  not 
understand  whether  grandfather  was  angry  with 
mother  for  giving  birth  to  a  child  without  asking  his 
permission,  or  for  not  bringing  the  child  to  him. 

He  came  into  the  kitchen  later,  looking  dishevelled; 
his  face  was  livid,  and  he  seemed  very  tired.  With 
him  came  grandmother,  wiping  the  tears  from  her 
cheeks  with  the  basque  of  her  blouse.  He  sat  down  on 
a  bench,  doubled  up,  resting  his  hands  on  it,  tremu- 
lously biting  his  pale  lips ;  and  she  knelt  down  in  front 
of  him,  and  said  quietly  but  with  great  earnest- 
ness: 

"Father,  forgive  her !  For  Christ's  sake  forgive  her ! 
You  can't  get  rid  of  her  in  this  manner.  Do  you  think 
that  such  things  don't  happen  amongst  the  gentry,  and 
in  merchants'  families'?  You  know  what  women  are. 
Now,  forgive  her !  No  one  is  perfect,  you  know." 

Grandfather  leaned  back  against  the  wall  and 
looked  into  her  face;  then  he  growled,  with  a  bitter 
laugh  which  was  almost  a  sob : 

"Well — what  next"?     Who  wouldn't  you  forgive? 


MY  CHILDHOOD  237 

I  wonder!     If  you  had  your  way  every  one  would  be 
forgiven.  .  .  .  Ugh!     You!" 

And  bending  over  her  he  seized  her  by  the  shoulders 
and  shook  her,  and  said,  speaking  in  a  rapid  whisper: 

"But,  by  God,  you  needn't  worry  yourself.  You 
will  find  no  forgiveness  in  me.  Here  we  are — almost 
in  our  graves — overtaken  by  punishment  in  our  last 
days  .  .  .  there  is  neither  rest  nor  happiness  for  us 
.  .  .  nor  will  there  be.  .  .  .  And  what  is  more  .  .  . 
mark  my  words!  ...  we  shall  be  beggars  before 
we  're  done — beggars !" 

Grandmother  took  his  hand,  and  sitting  beside  him 
laughed  gently  as  she  said: 

"Oh,  you  poor  thing!  So  you  are  afraid  of  being 
a  beggar.  Well,  and  suppose  we  do  become  beggars'? 
All  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  stay  at  home  while  I  go 
out  begging.  .  .  .  They  '11  give  to  me,  never  fear ! 
.  .  .  We  shall  have  plenty;  so  you  can  throw  that 
trouble  aside." 

He  suddenly  burst  out  laughing,  moving  his  head 
about  just  like  a  goat;  and  seizing  grandmother  round 
the  neck,  pressed  her  to  him,  looking  small  and 
crumpled  beside  her. 

"Oh,  you  fool !"  he  cried.  "You  blessed  fool !  .  .  . 
You  are  all  that  I  've  got  now !  .  .  .  You  don't 
worry  about  anything  because  you  don't  understand. 
But  you  must  look  back  a  little  .  .  .  and  remember 


238  MY  CHILDHOOD 

how  you  and  I  worked  for  them  .  .  .  how  I  sinned 
for  their  sakes  .  .  .  yet,  in  spite  of  all  that,  now — " 

Here  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer;  my  tears 
would  not  be  restrained,  and  I  jumped  down  off  the 
stove  and  flew  to  them,  sobbing  with  joy  because  they 
were  talking  to  each  other  in  this  wonderfully  friendly 
fashion,  and  because  I  was  sorry  for  them,  and  because 
mother  had  come,  and  because  they  took  me  to  them, 
tears  and  all,  and  embraced  me,  and  hugged  me,  and 
wept  over  me;  but  grandfather  whispered  to  me: 

"So  you  are  here,  you  little  demon!  Well,  your 
mother  's  come  back,  and  I  suppose  you  will  always 
be  with  her  now.  The  poor  old  devil  of  a  grand- 
father can  go,  eh"?  And  grandmother,  who  has  spoiled 
you  so  ...  she  can  go  to  ...  eh?  Ugh — 
you!  .  .  » 

He  put  us  away  from  him  and  stood  up  as  he  said 
in  a  loud,  angry  tone: 

"They  are  all  leaving  us — all  turning  away  from  us. 
.  .  .  Well,  call  her  in.  What  are  you  waiting  for1? 
Make  haste !" 

Grandmother  went  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  he  went 
and  stood  in  the  corner,  with  bowed  head. 

"All-merciful  God!"  he  began.  "Well  .  .  .  Thou 
seest  how  it  is  with  us !"  And  he  beat  his  breast  with 
his  fist. 

I  did  not  like  it  when  he  did  this;  in  fact  the  way 


MY  CHILDHOOD  239 

he  spoke  to  God  always  disgusted  me,  because  he 
seemed  to  be  vaunting  himself  before  his  Maker. 

When  mother  came  in  her  red  dress  lighted  up  the 
kitchen,  and  as  she  sat  down  by  the  table,  with  grand- 
father and  grandmother  one  on  each  side  of  her,  her 
wide  sleeves  fell  against  their  shoulders.  She  related 
something  to  them  quietly  and  gravely,  to  which  they 
listened  in  silence,  and  without  attempting  to  interrupt 
her,  just  as  if  they  were  children  and  she  were  their 
mother. 

Worn  out  by  excitement,  I  fell  fast  asleep  on  the 
couch. 

In  the  evening  the  old  people  went  to  vespers, 
dressed  in  their  best.  Grandmother  gave  a  merry 
wink  in  the  direction  of  grandfather,  who  was  resplend- 
ent in  the  uniform  he  wore  as  head  of  the  Guild, 
with  a  racoon  pelisse  over  it,  and  his  stomach  stick- 
ing out  importantly;  and  as  she  winked  she  observed 
to  mother : 

"Just  look  at  father!  Isn't  he  grand.  ...  As 
spruce  as  a  little  goat."  And  mother  laughed  gaily. 

When  I  was  left  alone  with  her  in  her  room,  she 
sat  on  the  couch,  with  her  feet  curled  under  her,  and 
pointing  to  the  place  beside  her,  she  said : 

"Come  and  sit  here.  Now,  tell  me — how  do  you 
like  living  here1?  Not  much,  eh?" 

How  did  I  like  it? 


240  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"I  don't  know." 

"Grandfather  beats  you,  does  he?" 

"Not  so  much  now." 

"Oh1?  .  .  .  Well,  now,  you  tell  me  all  about  it  .  .  . 
tell  me  whatever  you  like  .  .  .  well  ?" 

As  I  did  not  want  to  speak  about  grandfather,  I  told 
her  about  the  kind  man  who  used  to  live  in  that  room, 
whom  no  one  liked,  and  who  was  turned  out  by  grand- 
father. I  could  see  that  she  did  not  like  this  story  as 
she  said: 

''Well,  and  what  else?" 

I  told  her  about  the  three  boys,  and  how  the  Colo- 
nel had  driven  me  out  of  his  yard ;  and  her  hold  upon 
me  tightened  as  she  listened. 

"What  nonsense !"  she  exclaimed  with  flashing  eyes, 
and  was  silent  a  minute,  gazing  on  the  floor. 

"Why  was  grandfather  angry  with  you?"  I  asked. 

"Because  I  have  done  wrong,  according  to  him." 

"In  not  bringing  that  baby  here — ?" 

She  started  violently,  frowning,  and  biting  her  lips ; 
then  she  burst  into  a  laugh  and  pressed  me  more  closely 
to  her,  as  she  said: 

"Oh,  you  little  monster !  Now,  you  are  to  hold  your 
tongue  about  that,  do  you  hear?  Never  speak  about 
it — forget  you  ever  heard  it,  in  fact." 

And  she  spoke  to  me  quietly  and  sternly  for  some 
time;  but  I  did  not  understand  what  she  said,  and 


MY  CHILDHOOD  241 

presently  she  stood  up  and  began  to  pace  the  room, 
strumming  on  her  chin  with  her  fingers,  and  alternately 
raising  and  depressing  her  thick  eyebrows. 

A  guttering  tallow  candle  was  burning  on  the  table, 
and  was  reflected  in  the  blank  face  of  the  mirror; 
murky  shadows  crept  along  the  floor;  a  lamp  burned 
before  the  icon  in  the  corner;  and  the  ice-clad  windows 
were  silvered  by  moonlight.  Mother  looked  about  her 
as  if  she  were  seeking  something  on  the  bare  walls  or 
on  the  ceiling. 

"What  time  do  you  go  to  bed*?" 

"Let  me  stay  a  little  longer." 

"Besides,  you  have  had  some  sleep  to-day,"  she  re- 
minded herself. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  away*?"  I  asked  her. 

"Where  to?"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  surprised  tone; 
and  raising  my  head  she  gazed  for  such  a  long  time 
at  my  face  that  tears  came  into  my  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you1?"  she  asked. 

"My  neck  aches." 

My  heart  was  aching  too,  for  I  had  suddenly  realized 
that  she  would  not  remain  in  our  house,  but  would  go 
away  again. 

"You  are  getting  like  your  father,"  she  observed, 
kicking  a  mat  aside.  "Has  grandmother  told  you  any- 
thing about  him?" 

"Yes." 


242  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"She  loved  Maxim  very  much — very  much  indeed; 
and  he  loved  her — " 

"I  know." 

Mother  looked  at  the  candle  and  frowned;  then 
she  extinguished  it,  saying:  "That 's  better!" 

Yes,  it  made  the  atmosphere  fresher  and  clearer,  and 
the  dark,  murky  shadows  disappeared;  bright  blue 
patches  of  light  lay  on  the  floor,  and  golden  crystals 
shone  on  the  window-panes. 

"But  where  have  you  lived  all  this  time?" 

She  mentioned  several  towns,  as  if  she  were  trying 
to  remember  something  which  she  had  forgotten  long 
ago;  and  all  the  time  she  moved  noiselessly  round  the 
room,  like  a  hawk. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  dress?" 

"I  made  it  myself.     I  make  all  my  own  clothes." 

I  liked  to  think  that  she  was  different  from  others, 
but  I  was  sorry  that  she  so  rarely  spoke;  in  fact,  un- 
less I  asked  questions,  she  did  not  open  her  mouth. 

Presently  she  came  and  sat  beside  me  again  on  the 
couch;  and  there  we  stayed  without  speaking,  pressing 
close  to  each  other,  until  the  old  people  returned,  smell- 
ing of  wax  and  incense,  with  a  solemn  quietness  and 
gentleness  in  their  manner. 

We  supped  as  on  holidays,  ceremoniously,  exchang- 
ing very  few  words,  and  uttering  those  as  if  we  were 
afraid  of  waking  an  extremely  light  sleeper. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  243 

Almost  at  once  my  mother  energetically  under- 
took the  task  of  giving  me  Russian  lessons.  She 
bought  some  books,  from  one  of  which — "Kindred 
Words" — I  acquired  the  art  of  reading  Russian  char- 
acters in  a  few  days;  but  then  my  mother  must 
set  me  to  learn  poetry  by  heart — to  our  mutual  vex- 
ation. 

The  verses  ran : 

"Bolshaia  doroga,  priamaia  doroga 
Prostora  ne  malo  beresh  twi  ou  Boga 
Tebia  ne  rovniali  topor  ee  lopata 
Miagka  twi  kopitou  ee  pwiliu  bogata." 

But  I  read  "prostovo"  for  "prostora,"  and  "roubili" 
for  "rovniali,"  and  "kopita"  for  "kopitou." 

"Now,  think  a  moment,"  said  mother.  "How 
could  it  be  'prostovo,'  you  little  wretch?  .  .  .  Tro — 
sto — ra'-;  now  do  you  understand?" 

I  did  understand,  but  all  the  same  I  read  "pros- 
tovo," to  my  own  astonishment  as  much  as  hers. 

She  said  angrily  that  I  was  senseless  and  obstinate. 
This  made  bitter  hearing,  for  I  was  honestly  trying  to 
remember  the  cursed  verses,  and  I  could  repeat  them 
in  my  own  mind  without  a  mistake,  but  directly  I  tried 
to  say  them  aloud  they  went  wrong.  I  loathed  the 
elusive  lines,  and  began  to  mix  the  verses  up  on  pur- 
pose, putting  all  the  words  which  sounded  alike  to- 
gether anyhow.  I  was  delighted  when,  under  the  spell 


244  MY  CHILDHOOD 

I  placed  upon  them,  the  verses  emerged  absolutely 
meaningless. 

But  this  amusement  did  not  go  for  long  unpunished. 
One  day,  after  a  very  successful  lesson,  when  mother 
asked  me  if  I  had  learned  my  poetry,  I  gabbled  almost 
involuntarily : 

"Doroga,  dvouroga,  tvorog,  nedoroga, 
Kopwita,  popwito,  korwito — " 

I  recollected  myself  too  late.  Mother  rose  to  her 
feet,  and  resting  her  hands  on  the  table,  asked  in  very 
distinct  tones: 

"What  is  that  you  are  saying*?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  replied  dully. 

"Oh,  you  know  well  enough!" 

"It  was  just  something — " 

"Something  what*?" 

"Something  funny." 

"Go  into  the  corner." 

"Why?" 

"Go  into  the  corner,"  she  repeated  quietly,  but  her 
aspect  was  threatening. 

"Which  corner?" 

Without  replying,  she  gazed  so  fixedly  at  my  face 
that  I  began  to  feel  quite  flustered,  for  I  did  not  under- 
stand what  she  wanted  me  to  do.  In  one  corner,  under 
the  icon,  stood  a  small  table  on  which  was  a  vase  con- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  245 

taining  scented  dried  grass  and  some  flowers;  in  an- 
other stood  a  covered  trunk.  The  bed  occupied  the 
third,  and  there  was  no  fourth,  because  the  door  came 
close  up  to  the  wall. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I  said,  despairing 
of  being  able  to  understand  her. 

She  relaxed  slightly,  and  wiped  her  forehead  and 
her  cheeks  in  silence ;  then  she  asked : 

"Did  n't  grandfather  put  you  in  the  corner1?" 

"When?" 

"Never  mind  when!  Has  he  ever  done  so*?"  she 
cried,  striking  the  table  twice  with  her  hand. 

"No — at  least  I  don't  remember  it." 

She  sighed.     "Phew!     Come  here!" 

I  went  to  her,  saying:  "Why  are  you  so  angry  with 
me?" 

"Because  you  made  a  muddle  of  that  poetry  on  pur- 
pose." 

I  explained  as  well  as  I  was  able  that  I  could  re- 
member it  word  for  word  with  my  eyes  shut,  but  that 
if  I  tried  to  say  it  the  words  seemed  to  change. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  making  that  up?" 

I  answered  that  I  was  quite  sure;  but  on  second 
thoughts  I  was  not  so  sure,  and  I  suddenly  repeated 
the  verses  quite  correctly,  to  my  own  utter  astonishment 
and  confusion.  I  stood  before  my  mother  burning 
with  shame ;  my  face  seemed  to  be  swelling,  my  tingling 


246  MY  CHILDHOOD 

ears  to  be  filled  with  blood,  and  unpleasant  noises 
surged  through  my  head.  I  saw  her  face  through  my 
tears,  dark  with  vexation,  as  she  bit  her  lips  and 
frowned. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this*?"  she  asked  in  a  voice 
which  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  her.  "So  you  did 
make  it  up?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  didn't  mean  to!" 

"You  are  very  difficult,"  she  said,  letting  her  head 
droop.  "Run  away!" 

She  began  to  insist  on  my  learning  still  more  poetry, 
but  my  memory  seemed  to  grow  less  capable  every  day 
of  retaining  the  smooth,  flowing  lines,  while  my  insane 
desire  to  alter  or  mutilate  the  verses  grew  stronger  and 
more  malevolent  in  proportion.  I  even  substituted 
different  words,  by  which  I  somewhat  surprised  myself, 
for  a  whole  series  of  words  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  subject  would  appear  and  get  mixed  up  with 
the  correct  words  out  of  the  book.  Very  often  a  whole 
line  of  the  verse  would  seem  to  be  obliterated,  and  no 
matter  how  conscientiously  I  tried,  I  could  not  get  it 
back  into  my  mind's  eye.  That  pathetic  poem  of 
Prince  Biazemskov  (I  think  it  was  his)  caused  me  a 
great  deal  of  trouble : 

'At  eventide  and  early  morn 

The  old  man,  widow  and  orphan 

For  Christ's  sake  ask  for  help  from  man. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  247 

But  the  last  line: 

At  windows  beg,  with  air  forlorn. 

I  always  rendered  correctly.  Mother,  unable  to  make 
anything  of  me,  recounted  my  exploits  to  grandfather, 
who  said  in  an  ominous  tone: 

"It  is  all  put  on !  He  has  a  splendid  memory.  He 
learned  the  prayers  by  heart  with  me.  .  .  .  He  is  mak- 
ing believe,  that 's  all.  His  memory  is  good  enough. 
.  .  .  Teaching  him  is  like  engraving  on  a  piece  of 
stone  .  .  .  that  will  show  you  how  good  it  is!  .  .  . 
You  should  give  him  a  hiding." 

Grandmother  took  me  to  task  too. 

"You  can  remember  stories  and  songs  .  .  .  and 
are  n't  songs  poetry1?" 

All  this  was  true  and  I  felt  very  guilty,  but  all  the 
same  I  no  sooner  set  myself  to  learn  verses  than  from 
somewhere  or  other  different  words  crept  in  like  cock- 
roaches, and  formed  themselves  into  lines. 

"We  too  have  beggars  at  our  door, 
Old  men  and  orphans  very  poor. 
They  come  and  whine  and  ask  for  food, 
Which  they  will  sell,  though  it  is  good. 
To  Petrovna  to  feed  her  cows 
And  then  on  vodka  will  carouse." 

At  night,  when  I  lay  in  bed  beside  grandmother, 
I  used  to  repeat  to  her,  till  I  was  weary,  all  that  I  had 


248  MY  CHILDHOOD 

learned  out  of  books,  and  all  that  I  had  composed 
myself.  Sometimes  she  giggled,  but  more  often  she 
gave  me  a  lecture. 

"There  now!  You  see  what  you  can  do.  But  it 
is  not  right  to  make  fun  of  beggars,  God  bless  them! 
Christ  lived  in  poverty,  and  so  did  all  the  saints." 

I  murmured : 

"Paupers  I  hate, 
Grandfather  too. 
It 's  sad  to  relate, 
Pardon  me,  God! 
Grandfather  beats  me 
Whenever  he  can." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  I  wish  your  tongue 
may  drop  out !"  cried  grandmother  angrily.  "If  grand- 
father could  hear  what  you  are  saying — " 

"He  can  hear  if  he  likes." 

"You  are  very  wrong  to  be  so  saucy;  it  only  makes 
your  mother  angry,  and  she  has  troubles  enough  with- 
out you,"  said  grandmother  gravely  and  kindly. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?' 

"Never  mind !     You  would  n't  understand." 

"I  know !     It  is  because  grandfather — " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  I  tell  you !" 

My  lot  was  a  hard  one,  for  I  was  desperately  trying 
to  find  a  kindred  spirit,  but  as  I  was  anxious  that  no 
one  should  know  of  this,  I  took  refuge  in  being  saucy 


MY  CHILDHOOD  249 

and  disagreeable.  The  lessons  with  my  mother  became 
gradually  more  distasteful  and  more  difficult  to  me.  I 
easily  mastered  arithmetic,  but  I  had  not  the  patience 
to  learn  to  write,  and  as  for  grammar,  it  was  quite  un- 
intelligible to  me. 

But  what  weighed  upon  me  most  of  all  was  the  fact, 
which  I  both  saw  and  felt,  that  it  was  very  hard  for 
mother  to  go  on  living  in  grandfather's  house.  Her 
expression  became  more  sullen  every  day;  she  seemed 
to  look  upon  everything  with  the  eyes  of  a  stranger. 
She  used  to  sit  for  a  long  time  together  at  the  window 
overlooking  the  garden,  saying  nothing,  and  all  her 
brilliant  coloring  seemed  to  have  faded. 

In  lesson-time  her  deep-set  eyes  seemed  to  look  right 
through  me,  at  the  wall,  or  at  the  window,  as  she  asked 
me  questions  in  a  weary  voice,  and  straightway  forgot 
the  answers;  and  she  flew  into  rages  with  me  much 
oftener — which  hurt  me,  for  mothers  ought  to  behave 
better  than  any  one  else,  as  they  do  in  stories. 

Sometimes  I  said  to  her: 

"You  do  not  like  living  with  us,  do  you*?" 

"Mind  your  own  business!"  she  would  cry  angrily. 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  me  that  grandfather  was  up 
to  something  which  worried  grandmother  and  mother. 
He  often  shut  himself  up  with  mother  in  her  room,  and 
there  we  heard  him  wailing  and  squeaking  like  the 
wooden  pipe  of  Nikanora,  the  one-sided  shepherd, 


250  MY  CHILDHOOD 

which  always  affected  me  so  unpleasantly.  Once  when 
one  of  these  conversations  was  going  on,  mother 
shrieked  so  that  every  one  in  the  house  could  hear  her : 

"I  won't  have  it!     I  won't!" 

And  a  door  banged — and  grandfather  set  up  a  howl. 

This  happened  in  the  evening.  Grandmother  was 
sitting  at  the  kitchen  table  making  a  shirt  for  grand- 
father and  whispering  to  herself.  When  the  door 
banged,  she  said,  listening  intently: 

"O  Lord !  she  has  gone  up  to  the  lodgers." 

At  this  moment  grandfather  burst  into  the  kitchen, 
and  rushing  up  to  grandmother,  gave  her  a  blow  on  the 
head,  and  hissed  as  he  shook  his  bruised  fist  at  her: 

"Don't  you  go  chattering  about  things  there 's  no 
need  to  talk  about,  you  old  hag !" 

"You  are  an  old  fool !"  retorted  grandmother  quietly, 
as  she  put  her  knocked-about  hair  straight.  "Do  you 
think  I  am  going  to  keep  quiet*?  I  '11  tell  her  every- 
thing I  know  about  your  plots  always." 

He  threw  himself  upon  her  and  struck  at  her  large 
head  with  his  fists. 

Making  no  attempt  to  defend  herself,  or  to  strike 
him  back,  she  said : 

"Go  on!  Beat  me,  you  silly  fool!  .  .  .  That's 
right!  Hit  me!" 

I  threw  cushions  and  blankets  at  him  from  the  couch, 
and  the  boots  which  were  round  the  stove,  but  he  was 


MY  CHILDHOOD  251 

in  such  a  frenzy  of  rage  that  he  did  not  heed  them. 
Grandmother  fell  to  the  floor  and  he  kicked  her  head, 
till  he  finally  stumbled  and  fell  down  himself,  over- 
turning a  pailful  of  water.  He  jumped  up  spluttering 
and  snorting,  glanced  wildly  round,  and  rushed  away 
to  his  own  room  in  the  attic. 

Grandmother  rose  with  a  sigh,  sat  down  on  the 
bench,  and  began  to  straighten  her  matted  hair.  I 
jumped  oil  the  couch,  and  she  said  to  me  in  an  angry 
tone: 

"Put  these  pillows  and  things  in  their  places.  The 
idea !  Fancy  throwing  pillows  at  any  one !  .  .  .  And 
was  it  any  business  of  yours?  As  for  that  old  devil, 
he  has  gone  out  of  his  mind — the  fool !" 

Then  she  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  wrinkling  up 
her  face  as  she  called  me  to  her,  and  holding  her  head 
down  said: 

"Look!     What  is  it  that  hurts  me  so?" 

I  put  her  heavy  hair  aside,  and  saw  that  a  hairpin 
had  been  driven  deep  intc  the  skin  of  her  head.  I 
pulled  it  out;  but  finding  another  one,  my  ringers 
seemed  to  lose  all  power  of  movement  and  I  said: 
"I  think  I  had  better  call  mother.  I  am  fright- 
ened." 

She  waved  me  aside. 

"What  is  the  matter?  .  .  .  Call  mother  indeed! 
I  '11  call  you !  .  .  .  Thank  God  that  she  has  heard  and 


252  MY  CHILDHOOD 

seen  nothing  of  it !  As  for  you —  Now  then,  get  out 
of  my  way!" 

And  with  her  own  flexible  lace-worker's  fingers  she 
rummaged  in  her  thick  mane,  while  I  plucked  up  suffi- 
cient courage  to  help  her  pull  out  two  more  thick,  bent 
hairpins. 

"Does  it  hurt  you?' 

"Not  much.  I  '11  heat  the  bath  to-morrow  and  wash 
my  head.  It  will  be  all  right  then." 

Then  she  began  persuasively:  "Now,  my  darling, 
you  won't  tell  your  mother  that  he  beat  me,  will  you? 
There  is  enough  bad  feeling  between  them  without 
that.  So  you  won't  tell,  will  you*?" 

"No." 

"Now,  don't  you  forget!  Come,  let  us  put  things 
straight.  .  .  .  There  are  no  bruises  on  my  face,  are 
there?  So  that's  all  right;  we  shall  be  able  to  keep 
it  quiet." 

Then  she  set  to  work  to  clean  the  floor,  and  I  ex- 
claimed, from  the  bottom  of  my  heart: 

"You  are  just  like  a  saint  .  .  .  they  torture  you, 
and  torture  you,  and  you  think  nothing  of  it." 

"What  is  that  nonsense  you  are  jabbering? 
Saint — ?  Where  did  you  ever  see  one?" 

And  going  on  all  fours,  she  kept  muttering  to  herself, 
while  I  sat  by  the  side  of  the  stove  and  thought  on 
ways  and  means  of  being  revenged  on  grandfather.  It 


MY  CHILDHOOD  253 

was  the  first  time  in  my  presence  that  he  had  beaten 
grandmother  in  such  a  disgusting  and  terrible  manner. 
His  red  face  and  his  dishevelled  red  hair  rose  before 
me  in  the  twilight;  my  heart  was  boiling  over  with 
rage,  and  I  was  irritated  because  I  could  not  think  of  an 
adequate  punishment. 

But  a  day  or  two  after  this,  having  been  sent  up  to 
his  attic  with  something  for  him,  I  saw  him  sitting 
on  the  floor  before  an  open  trunk,  looking  through 
some  papers;  while  on  a  chair  lay  his  favorite  calen- 
dar— consisting  of  twelve  leaves  of  thick,  gray  paper, 
divided  into  squares  according  to  the  number  of  days 
in  the  month,  and  in  each  square  was  the  figure  of  the 
saint  of  the  day.  Grandfather  greatly  valued  this 
calendar,  and  only  let  me  look  at  it  on  those  rare  oc- 
casions when  he  was  very  pleased  with  me;  and  I  was 
conscious  of  an  indefinable  feeling  as  I  gazed  at  the 
charming  little  gray  figures  placed  so  close  together. 
I  knew  the  lives  of  some  of  them  too — Kirik  and  Uliti, 
Barbara,  the  great  martyr,  Panteleimon,  and  many 
others ;  but  what  I  liked  most  was  the  sad  life  of  Alexei, 
the  man  of  God,  and  the  beautiful  verses  about  him. 
Grandmother  often  repeated  them  to  me  feelingly. 
One  might  consider  hundreds  of  such  people  and  con- 
sole oneself  with  the  thought  that  they  were  all  martyrs. 

But  now  I  made  up  my  mind  to  tear  up  the  calendar ; 
and  when  grandfather  took  a  dark  blue  paper  to  the 


254  MY  CHILDHOOD 

window  to  read  it,  I  snatched  up  several  leaves,  and 
flying  downstairs  stole  the  scissors  off  grandmother's 
table,  and  throwing  myself  on  the  couch  began  to  cut 
off  the  heads  of  the  saints. 

When  I  had  beheaded  one  row  I  began  to  feel  that 
it  was  a  pity  to  destroy  the  calendar,  so  I  decided  to 
just  cut  out  the  squares;  but  before  the  second  row 
was  in  pieces  grandfather  appeared  in  the  doorway 
and  asked: 

"Who  gave  you  permission  to  take  away  my 
calendar*?" 

Then  seeing  the  squares  of  paper  scattered  over  the 
table  he  picked  them  up,  one  after  the  other,  holding 
each  close  to  his  face,  then  dropping  it  and  picking  up 
another;  his  jaw  went  awry,  his  beard  jumped  up  and 
down,  and  he  breathed  so  hard  that  the  papers  flew 
on  to  the  floor. 

"What  have  you  done?"  he  shrieked  at  length,  drag- 
ging me  towards  him  by  the  foot. 

I  turned  head  over  heels,  and  grandmother  caught 
me,  with  grandfather  striking  her  with  his  fist  and 
screaming : 

"I'll  kill  him!" 

At  this  moment  mother  appeared,  and  I  took  refuge 
in  the  corner  of  the  stove,  while  she,  barring  his  way, 
caught  grandfather's  hands,  which  were  being  flour- 
ished in  her  face,  and  pushed  him  away  as  she  said : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  255 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  unseemly  behavior? 
Recollect  yourself." 

Grandfather  threw  himself  on  the  bench  under  the 
window,  howling: 

"You  want  to  kill  me.  You  are  all  against  me — 
every  one  of  you !" 

"Are  n't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?"  My  mother's 
voice  sounded  subdued.  "Why  all  this  pretense*?" 

Grandfather  shrieked,  and  kicked  the  bench,  with  his 
beard  sticking  out  funnily  towards  the  ceiling  and  his 
eyes  tightly  closed;  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  really  was 
ashamed  before  mother,  and  that  he  was  really  pre- 
tending— and  that  was  why  he  kept  his  eyes  shut. 

"I  '11  gum  all  these  pieces  together  on  some  calico, 
and  they  will  look  even  better  than  before,"  said 
mother,  glancing  at  the  cuttings  and  the  leaves. 
"Look — they  were  crumpled  and  torn;  they  had  been 
lying  about." 

She  spoke  to  him  just  like  she  used  to  speak  to  me 
in  lesson-time  when  I  could  not  understand  something, 
and  he  stood  up  at  once,  put  his  shirt  and  waistcoat 
straight,  in  a  business-like  manner,  expectorated  and 
said: 

"Do  it  to-day.  I  will  bring  you  the  other  leaves  at 
once." 

He  went  to  the  door,  but  he  halted  on  the  threshold 
and  pointed  a  crooked  finger  at  me: 


256  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"And  he  will  have  to  be  whipped." 

"That  goes  without  saying,"  agreed  mother,  bend- 
ing towards  me.  "Why  did  you  do  it*?" 

"I  did  it  on  purpose.  He  had  better  not  beat  grand- 
mother again,  or  I  '11  cut  his  beard  off." 

Grandmother,  taking  off  her  torn  bodice,  said,  shak- 
ing her  head  reproachfully : 

"Hold  your  tongue  now,  as  you  promised."  And 
she  spat  on  the  floor.  "May  your  tongue  swell  up  if 
you  don't  keep  it  still !" 

Mother  looked  at  her,  and  again  crossed  the  kitchen 
to  me. 

"When  did  he  beat  her?' 

"Now,  Varvara,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  ask 
him  about  it.  Is  it  any  business  of  yours1?"  said  grand- 
mother angrily. 

Mother  went  and  put  her  arm  round  her.  "Oh,  lit- 
tle mother — my  dear  little  mother!" 

"Oh,  go  away  with  your  little  mother' !  Get 
away !" 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Grandfather 
could  be  heard  stamping  about  in  the  vestibule. 

When  she  first  came  home  mother  had  made  friends 
with  the  merry  lady,  the  soldier's  wife,  and  almost 
every  evening  she  went  up  to  the  front  room  of  the 
half-house,  where  she  sometimes  found  people  from 


MY  CHILDHOOD  257 

Betlenga  House — beautiful  ladies,  and  officers. 
Grandfather  did  not  like  this  at  all,  and  one  day,  as 
he  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen,  he  shook  his  spoon  at  her 
threateningly  and  muttered: 

"So  you  are  starting  your  old  ways,  curse  you !  We 
don't  get  a  chance  of  sleeping  till  the  morning  now." 

He  soon  cleared  the  lodgers  out,  and  when  they 
had  gone  he  brought  from  somewhere  or  other  two 
loads  of  assorted  furniture,  placed  it  in  the  front  room, 
and  locked  it  up  with  a  large  padlock. 

"We  have  no  need  to  take  lodgers,"  he  said.  "I  am 
going  to  entertain  on  my  own  account  now." 

And  so  on  Sundays  and  holidays  visitors  began  to 
appear.  There  was  grandmother's  sister,  Matrena 
Sergievna,  a  shrewish  laundress  with  a  large  nose,  in  a 
striped  silk  dress  and  with  hair  dyed  gold;  and  with 
her  came  her  sons — Vassili,  a  long-haired  draughtsman, 
good-natured  and  gay,  who  was  dressed  entirely  in 
gray;  and  Victor,  in  all  colors  of  the  rainbow,  with  a 
head  like  a  horse,  and  a  narrow  face  covered  with 
freckles,  who,  even  while  he  was  in  the  vestibule  taking 
off  his  goloshes,  sang  in  a  squeaky  voice  just  like  Pe- 
trushka's:  "Andrei-papa!  Andrei-papa!"  which  oc- 
casioned me  some  surprise  and  alarm. 

Uncle  Jaakov  used  to  come  too,  with  his  guitar, 
and  accompanied  by  a  bent,  bald-headed  man — a 
clock-winder,  who  wore  a  long,  black  frock-coat  and 


258  MY  CHILDHOOD 

had  a  smooth  manner;  he  reminded  me  of  a  monk. 
He  used  to  sit  in  a  corner  with  his  head  on  one  side, 
and  smiling  curiously  as  he  tapped  his  shaven,  clefted 
chin  with  his  ringers.  He  was  dark,  and  there  was 
something  peculiar  in  the  way  he  stared  at  us  with 
his  one  eye ;  he  said  very  little,  and  his  favorite  expres- 
sion was:  "Pray  don't  trouble;  it  doesn't  matter  in 
the  least." 

When  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time  I  suddenly  re- 
membered one  day  long  ago,  while  we  were  living  in 
New  Street,  hearing  the  dull,  insistent  beating  of  a 
drum  outside  the  gate,  and  seeing  a  night-cart,  sur- 
rounded by  soldiers  and  people  in  black,  going  from 
the  prison  to  the  square;  and  seated  on  a  bench  in  the 
cart  was  a  man  of  medium  size,  with  a  round  cap  made 
of  woolen  stuff,  in  chains — and  upon  his  breast  a  black 
tablet  was  displayed,  on  which  there  were  written  some 
words  in  large  white  letters.  The  man  hung  his  head 
as  if  he  were  reading  what  was  written  there,  and  he 
shook  all  over  and  his  chains  rattled.  So  when  mother 
said  to  the  winder :  "This  is  my  son,"  I  shrank  away 
from  him  in  terror,  and  put  my  hands  behind  me. 

"Pray  don't  trouble !"  he  said,  and  his  whole  mouth 
seemed  to  stretch,  in  a  ghastly  fashion,  as  far  as  his 
right  ear,  as  he  seized  me  by  the  belt,  drew  me  to  him, 
turned  me  round  swiftly  and  lightly,  and  let  me  go. 

"He 's  all  right.     He  's  a  sturdy  little  chap." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  259 

I  betook  myself  to  the  corner,  where  there  was  an 
armchair  upholstered  in  leather — so  large  that  one 
could  lie  in  it;  and  grandfather  used  to  brag  about  it, 
and  call  it  "Prince  Gruzincki's  armchair" — and  in  this 
I  settled  myself  and  looked  on,  thinking  that  grown-up 
people's  ideas  of  enjoyment  were  very  boring,  and  that 
the  way  the  clock-winder's  face  kept  on  changing  was 
very  strange,  and  was  not  calculated  to  inspire  confi- 
dence. 

It  was  an  oily,  flexible  face,  and  it  seemed  to  be  melt- 
ing and  always  softly  on  the  move;  if  he  smiled,  his 
thick  lips  shifted  to  his  right  cheek,  and  his  little  nose 
turned  that  way  too,  and  looked  like  a  meat  pasty  on  a 
plate.  His  great  projecting  ears  moved  strangely  too, 
one  being  lifted  every  time  he  raised  his  eyebrow  over 
his  seeing  eye,  and  the  other  moving  in  unison  with  his 
cheek-bone;  and  when  he  sneezed  it  seemed  as  if  it 
were  as  easy  to  cover  his  nose  with  them  as  with  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  Sometimes  he  sighed,  and  thrust 
out  his  dark  tongue,  round  as  a  pestle,  and  licked  his 
thick,  moist  lips  with  a  circular  movement.  This  did 
not  strike  me  as  being  funny,  but  only  as  something 
wonderful,  which  I  could  not  help  looking  at. 

They  drank  tea  with  rum  in  it,  which  smelt  like 
burnt  onion  tops;  they  drank  liqueurs  made  by  grand- 
mother, some  yellow  like  gold,  some  black  like  tar,  some 
green;  they  ate  curds,  and  buns  made  of  butter,  eggs 


260  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  honey;  they  perspired,  and  panted,  and  lavished 
praises  on  grandmother;  and  when  they  had  finished 
eating,  they  settled  themselves,  looking  flushed  and 
puffy,  decorously  in  their  chairs,  and  languidly  asked 
Uncle  Jaakov  to  play. 

He  bent  over  his  guitar  and  struck  up  a  disagree- 
able, irritating  song: 

"Oh,  we  have  been  out  on  the  spree, 
The  town  rang  with  our  voices  free, 
And  to  a  lady  from  Kazan 
We  've  told  our  story,  every  man." 

I  thought  this  was  a  miserable  song,  and  grand- 
mother said: 

"Why  don't  you  play  something  else,  Jaasha^ — a 
real  song!  Do  you  remember,  Matrena,  the  sort  of 
songs  we  used  to  sing1?" 

Spreading  out  her  rustling  frock,  the  laundress  re- 
minded her: 

"There  's  a  new  fashion  in  singing  now,  Matushka." 

Uncle  looked  at  grandmother,  blinking  as  if  she 
were  a  long  way  off,  and  went  on  obstinately  pro- 
ducing those  melancholy  sounds  and  foolish  words. 

Grandfather  was  carrying  on  a  mysterious  conver- 
sation with  the  clock- winder,  pointing  his  finger  at  him; 
and  the  latter,  raising  his  eyebrow,  looked  over  to 
mother's  side  of  the  room  and  shook  his  head,  and  his 
mobile  face  assumed  a  new  and  indescribable  shape. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  261 

Mother  always  sat  between  the  Sergievnas,  and  as 
she  talked  quietly  and  gravely  to  Vassili,  she  sighed : 

"Ye — es !     That  wants  thinking  about." 

And  Victor  smiled  the  smile  of  one  who  has  eaten  to 
satiety,  and  scraped  his  feet  on  the  floor;  then  he  sud- 
denly burst  shrilly  into  song: 

"Andrei-papa!     Andrei-papa!" 

They  all  stopped  talking  in  surprise  and  looked  at 
him;  while  the  laundress  explained  in  a  tone  of 
pride : 

"He  got  that  from  the  theater;  they  sing  it  there." 

There  were  two  or  three  evenings  like  this,  made 
memorable  by  their  oppressive  dullness,  and  then  the 
winder  appeared  in  the  daytime,  one  Sunday  after 
High  Mass.  I  was  sitting  with  mother  in  her  room 
helping  her  to  mend  a  piece  of  torn  beaded  embroidery, 
when  the  door  flew  open  unexpectedly  and  grandmother 
rushed  into  the  room  with  a  frightened  face,  saying  in 
a  loud  whisper:  "Varia,  he  has  come!"  and  disap- 
peared immediately. 

Mother  did  not  stir,  not  an  eyelash  quivered;  but 
the  door  was  soon  opened  again,  and  there  stood  grand- 
father on  the  threshold. 

"Dress  yourself,  Varvara,  and  come  along!" 

She  sat  still,  and  without  looking  at  him  said : 

"Come  where?" 

"Come  along,  for  God's  sake !     Don't  begin  arguing. 


262  MY  CHILDHOOD 

He  is  a  good,  peaceable  man,  in  a  good  position,  and 
he  will  make  a  good  father  for  Lexei." 

He  spoke  in  an  unusually  important  manner,  strok- 
ing his  sides  with  the  palms  of  his  hands  the  while; 
but  his  elbows  trembled,  as  they  were  bent  backwards, 
exactly  as  if  his  hands  wanted  to  be  stretched  out  in 
front  of  him,  and  he  had  a  struggle  to  keep  them  back. 

Mother  interrupted  him  calmly. 

"I  tell  you  that  it  can't  be  done." 

Grandfather  stepped  up  to  her,  stretching  out  his 
hands  just  as  if  he  were  blind,  and  bending  over  her, 
bristling  with  rage,  he  said,  with  a  rattle  in  his  throat : 

"Come  along,  or  I  '11  drag  you  to  him —  by  the 
hair." 

"You'll  drag  me  to  him,  will  you*?"  asked  mother, 
standing  up.  She  turned  pale  and  her  eyes  were  pain- 
fully drawn  together  as  she  began  rapidly  to  take  off 
her  bodice  and  skirt,  and  finally,  wearing  nothing  but 
her  chemise,  went  up  to  grandfather  and  said: 

"Now,  drag  me  to  him." 

He  ground  his  teeth  together  and  shook  his  fist  in 
her  face : 

"Varvara !     Dress  yourself  at  once !" 

Mother  pushed  him  aside  with  her  hand,  and  took 
hold  of  the  door  handle. 

"Well?     Come  along!" 

"Curse  you !"  whispered  grandfather. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  263 

"I  am  not  afraid — come  along !" 

She  opened  the  door,  but  grandfather  seized  her  by 
her  chemise  and  fell  on  his  knees,  whispering : 

"Varvara !  You  devil !  You  will  ruin  us.  Have 
you  no  shame*?" 

And  he  wailed  softly  and  plaintively: 

"Mo— ther !     Mo— ther !" 

Grandmother  was  already  barring  mother's  way; 
waving  her  hands  in  her  face  as  if  she  were  a  hen,  she 
now  drove  her  away  from  the  door,  muttering  through 
her  closed  teeth: 

"Varka!  You  fool!  What  are  you  doing?  Go 
away,  you  shameless  hussy!" 

She  pushed  her  into  the  room  and  secured  the  door 
with  the  hook;  and  then  she  bent  over  grandfather, 
helping  him  up  with  one  hand  and  threatening  him 
with  the  other. 

"Ugh!     You  old  devil!" 

She  sat  him  on  the  couch,  and  he  went  down  all  of 
a  heap,  like  a  rag  doll,  with  his  mouth  open  and  his 
head  waggling. 

"Dress  yourself  at  once,  you!"  cried  grandmother 
to  mother. 

Picking  her  dress  up  from  the  floor,  mother  said : 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  him — do  you  hear1?" 

Grandmother  pushed  me  away  from  the  couch. 

"Go  and  fetch  a  basin  of  water.     Make  haste !" 


264  MY  CHILDHOOD 

She  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  which  was  almost  a  whis- 
per, and  with  a  calm,  assured  manner. 

I  ran  into  the  vestibule.  I  could  hear  the  heavy 
tread  of  measured  footsteps  in  the  front  room  of  the 
half -house,  and  mother's  voice  came  after  me  from 
her  room: 

"I  shall  leave  this  place  to-morrow !" 

I  went  into  the  kitchen  and  sat  down  by  the  window 
as  if  I  were  in  a  dream. 

Grandfather  groaned  and  shrieked;  grandmother 
muttered;  then  there  was  the  sound  of  a  door  being 
banged,  and  all  was  silent — oppressively  so. 

Remembering  what  I  had  been  sent  for,  I  scooped 
up  some  water  in  a  brass  basin  and  went  into  the  ves- 
tibule. From  the  front  room  came  the  clock-winder 
with  his  head  bent ;  he  was  smoothing  his  fur  cap  with 
his  hand,  and  quacking.  Grandmother  with  her  hands 
folded  over  her  stomach  was  bowing  to  his  back,  and 
saying  softly: 

"You  know  what  it  is  yourself — you  can't  be  forced 
to  be  nice  to  people." 

He  halted  on  the  threshold,  and  then  stepped  into 
the  yard ;  and  grandmother,  trembling  all  over,  crossed 
herself  and  did  not  seem  to  know  whether  she  wanted 
to  laugh  or  cry. 

"What  is  the  matter1?"  I  asked,  running  to  her. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  265 

She  snatched  the  basin  from  me,  splashing  the  water 
over  my  legs,  and  cried : 

"So  this  is  where  you  come  for  water.  Bolt  the 
door!"  And  she  went  back  into  mother's  room;  and  I 
went  into  the  kitchen  again  and  listened  to  them  sigh- 
ing and  groaning  and  muttering,  just  as  if  they  were 
moving  a  load,  which  was  too  heavy  for  them,  from  one 
place  to  another. 

It  was  a  brilliant  day.  Through  the  ice-covered 
window-panes  peeped  the  slanting  beams  of  the  winter 
sun;  on  the  table,  which  was  laid  for  dinner,  was  the 
pewter  dinner-service;  a  goblet  containing  red  kvass, 
and  another  with  some  dark-green  vodka  made  by 
grandfather  from  betony  and  St.  John's  wort,  gleamed 
dully.  Through  the  thawed  places  on  the  window 
could  be  seen  the  snow  on  the  roofs,  dazzlingly  bright 
and  sparkling  like  silver  on  the  posts  of  the  fence. 
Hanging  against  the  window-frame  in  cages,  my  birds 
played  in  the  sunshine :  the  tame  siskins  chirped  gaily, 
the  robins  uttered  their  sharp,  shrill  twitter,  and  the 
goldfinch  took  a  bath. 

But  this  radiant,  silver  day,  in  which  every  sound 
was  clear  and  distinct,  brought  no  joy  with  it,  for  it 
seemed  out  of  place — everything  seemed  out  of  place. 
I  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  set  the  birds  free,  and 


266  MY  CHILDHOOD 

was  about  to  take  down  the  cages  when  grandmother 
rushed  in,  clapping  her  hands  to  her  sides,  and  flew 
to  the  stove,  calling  herself  names. 

"Curse  you!  Bad  luck  to  you  for  an  old  fool, 
Akulina!" 

She  drew  a  pie  out  of  the  oven,  touched  the  crust 
with  her  finger,  and  spat  on  the  floor  out  of  sheer  ex- 
asperation. 

"There  you  are — absolutely  dried  up!  It  is  your 
own  fault  that  it  is  burnt.  Uch !  Devil !  A  plague 
upon  all  your  doings !  Why  don't  you  keep  your  eyes 
open,  owl"?  .  .  .  You  are  as  unlucky  as  bad  money!" 

And  she  cried,  and  blew  on  the  pie,  and  turned  it 
over,  first  on  this  side,  then  on  that,  tapping  the  dry 
crust  with  her  fingers,  upon  which  her  large  tears 
splashed  forlornly. 

When  grandfather  and  mother  came  into  the  kitchen 
she  banged  the  pie  on  the  table  so  hard  that  all  the 
plates  jumped. 

"Look  at  that!  That 's  your  doing  .  .  .  there's  no 
crust  for  you,  top  or  bottom !" 

Mother,  looking  quite  happy  and  peaceful,  kissed 
her,  and  told  her  not  to  get  angry  about  it;  while  grand- 
father, looking  utterly  crushed  and  weary,  sat  down  to 
table  and  unfolded  his  serviette,  blinking,  with  the 
sun  in  his  eyes,  and  muttered : 

"That  will  do.     It  does  n't  matter.     We  have  eaten 


MY  CHILDHOOD  267 

plenty  of  pies  that  were  not  spoilt.  When  the  Lord 
buys  He  pays  for  a  year  in  minutes  .  .  .  and  allows 
no  interest.  Sit  down,  do,  Varia!  .  .  .  and  have 
done  with  it." 

He  behaved  just  as  if  he  had  gone  out  of  his  mind, 
and  talked  all  dinner-time  about  God,  and  about  un- 
godly Ahab,  and  said  what  a  hard  lot  a  father's  was, 
until  grandmother  interrupted  him  by  saying  angrily: 

"You  eat  your  dinner  .  .  .  that 's  the  best  thing 
you  can  do !" 

Mother  joked  all  the  time,  and  her  clear  eyes 
sparkled. 

"So  you  were  frightened  just  now*?"  she  asked,  giv- 
ing me  a  push. 

No,  I  had  not  been  so  frightened  then,  but  now  I 
felt  uneasy  and  bewildered.  As  the  meal  dragged  out 
to  the  weary  length  which  was  usual  on  Sundays  and 
holidays,  it  seemed  to  me  that  these  could  not  be  the 
same  people  who,  only  half  an  hour  ago,  were  shout- 
ing at  each  other,  on  the  verge  of  fighting,  and  burst- 
ing out  into  tears  and  sobs.  I  could  not  believe,  that  is 
to  say,  that  they  were  in  earnest  now,  and  that  they 
were  not  ready  to  weep  all  the  time.  But  those  tears 
and  cries,  and  the  scenes  which  they  inflicted  upon  one 
another,  happened  so  often,  and  died  away  so  quickly, 
that  I  began  to  get  used  to  them,  and  they  gradually 
ceased  to  excite  me  or  to  cause  me  heartache. 


268  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Much  later  I  realized  that  Russian  people,  because 
of  the  poverty  and  squalor  of  their  lives,  love  to  amuse 
themselves  with  sorrow — to  play  with  it  like  children, 
and  are  seldom  ashamed  of  being  unhappy. 

Amidst  their  endless  week-days,  grief  makes  a  holi- 
day, and  a  fire  is  an  amusement — a  scratch  is  an  orna- 
ment to  an  empty  face. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AFTER  this  incident  mother  suddenly  asserted  her- 
self, made  a  firm  stand,  and  was  soon  mistress 
of  the  house,  while  grandfather,  grown  thoughtful  and 
quiet,  and  quite  unlike  himself,  became  a  person  of  no 
account. 

He  hardly  ever  went  out  of  the  house,  but  sat  all 
day  up  in  the  attic  reading,  by  stealth,  a  book  called 
"The  Writings  of  My  Father."  He  kept  this  book  in 
a  trunk  under  lock  and  key,  and  one  day  I  saw  him 
wash  his  hands  before  he  took  it  out.  It  was  a  dumpy, 
fat  book  bound  in  red  leather;  on  the  dark  blue  title 
page  a  figured  inscription  in  different  colored  inks 
flaunted  itself:  "To  worthy  Vassili  Kashmirin,  in 
gratitude,  and  sincere  remembrance";  and  underneath 
were  written  some  strange  surnames,  while  the  frontis- 
piece depicted  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

Carefully  opening  the  heavy  binding,  grandfather 
used  to  put  on  his  silver-rimmed  spectacles,  and  gazing 
at  the  book,  move  his  nose  up  and  down  for  a  long  time, 
in  order  to  get  his  spectacles  at  the  right  angle. 

I  asked  him  more  than  once  what  book  it  was  that 

269 


270  MY  CHILDHOOD 

he  was  reading,  but  he  only  answered  in  an  impressive 
tone: 

"Never  mind.  .  .  .  Wait  a  bit,  and  when  I  die  it 
will  come  to  you.  I  will  leave  you  my  racoon  pelisse 
too." 

He  began  to  speak  to  mother  more  gently,  but  less 
often;  listening  attentively  to  her  speeches  with  his 
eyes  glittering  like  Uncle  Peter's,  and  waving  her  aside 
as  he  muttered: 

"There !  that 's  enough.     Do  what  you  like  .  .  ." 

In  that  trunk  of  his  lay  many  wonderful  articles  of 
attire — skirts  of  silken  material,  padded  satin  jackets, 
sleeveless  silk  gowns,  cloth  of  woven  silver  and  head- 
bands sewn  with  pearls,  brightly  colored  lengths  of  ma- 
terial and  handkerchiefs,  with  necklaces  of  colored 
stones.  He  took  them  all,  panting  as  he  went,  to 
mother's  room  and  laid  them  about  on  the  chairs  and 
tables — clothes  were  mother's  delight — and  he  said  to 
her: 

"In  our  young  days  dress  was  more  beautiful  and 
much  richer  than  it  is  now.  Dress  was  richer,  and 
people  seemed  to  get  on  better  together.  But  these 
times  are  past  and  cannot  be  called  back  .  .  .  well, 
here  you  are;  take  them,  and  dress  yourself  up." 

One  day  mother  went  to  her  room  for  a  short  time, 
and  when  she  reappeared  she  was  dressed  in  a  dark 


MY  CHILDHOOD  271 

blue  sleeveless  robe,  embroidered  with  gold,  with  a 
pearl  head-band ;  and  making  a  low  obeisance  to  grand- 
father, she  asked: 

"Well,  how  does  this  suit  you,  my  lord  Father*?" 
Grandfather  murmured  something,  and  brightening 
wonderfully,  walked  round  her,  holding  up  his  hands, 
and  said  indistinctly,  just  as  if  he  were  talking  in  his 
sleep : 

"Ech!  Varvara!  ...  if  you  had  plenty  of  money 
you  would  have  the  best  people  round  you  ...    !" 

Mother  lived  now  in  two  front  rooms  in  the  half- 
house,  and  had  a  great  many  visitors,  the  most  frequent 
being  the  brothers  Maximov:  Peter,  a  well-set-up, 
handsome  officer  with  a  large,  light  beard  and  blue  eyes 
— the  very  one  before  whom  grandfather  thrashed  me 
for  spitting  on  the  old  gentleman's  head;  and  Eugen, 
also  tall  and  thin,  with  a  pale  face  and  a  small,  pointed 
beard.  His  large  eyes  were  like  plums,  and  he  was 
dressed  in  a  green  coat  with  gold  buttons  and  gold  let- 
ters on  his  narrow  shoulders.  He  often  tossed  his  head 
lightly,  throwing  his  long,  wavy  hair  back  from  his 
high,  smooth  forehead,  and  smiled  indulgently;  and 
whenever  he  told  some  story  in  his  husky  voice,  he  in- 
variably began  his  speech  with  these  insinuating  words : 
"Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  appears  to  me*?" 
Mother  used  to  listen  to  him  with  twinkling  eyes, 


272  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  frequently  interrupted  him  laughingly  with: 
"You  are  a  baby,  Eugen  Vassilovitch — forgive  me  for 
saying  so !" 

And  the  officer,  slapping  his  broad  palms  on  his 
knees,  would  cry: 

"A  queer  sort  of  baby !" 

The  Christmas  holidays  were  spent  in  noisy  gaiety, 
and  almost  every  evening  people  came  to  see  mother 
in  full  dress ;  or  she  put  on  gala  dress — better  than  any 
of  them  wore — and  went  out  with  her  guests. 

Every  time  she  left  the  house,  in  company  with  her 
gaily  attired  guests,  it  seemed  to  sink  into  the  earth, 
and  a  terrifying  silence  seemed  to  creep  into  every  cor- 
ner of  it.  Grandmother  flapped  about  the  room  like 
an  old  goose,  putting  everything  straight.  Grand- 
father stood  with  his  back  against  the  warm  tiles  of  the 
stove,  and  talked  to  himself. 

"Well  .  .  .  that  will  do  ...  very  good!  .  .  . 
We  '11  have  a  look  and  see  what  family  .  .  ." 

After  the  Christmas  holidays  mother  sent  Sascha, 
Uncle  Michael's  son,  and  me  to  school.  Sascha's 
father  had  married  again,  and  from  the  very  first  the 
stepmother  had  taken  a  dislike  to  her  stepson,  and 
had  begun  to  beat  him;  so  at  grandmother's  entreaty, 
grandfather  had  taken  Sascha  to  live  in  his  house. 
We  went  to  school  for  a  month,  and  all  I  learned,  as 
far  as  I  remember,  was  that  when  I  was  asked  "What  . 


MY  CHILDHOOD  273 

is  your  surname*?"  I  must  not  reply  "Pyeshkov"  simply, 
but  "My  surname  is  Pyeshkov."  And  also  that  I  must 
not  say  to  the  teacher:  "Don't  shout  at  me,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  am  not  afraid  of  you !" 

At  first  I  did  not  like  school,  but  my  cousin  was 
very  pleased  with  it  in  the  beginning,  and  easily  made 
friends  for  himself;  but  once  he  fell  asleep  during  a 
lesson,  and  suddenly  called  out  in  his  sleep : 

"I  wo— on't!" 

He  awoke  with  a  start  and  ran  out  of  the  class-room 
without  ceremony.  He  was  mercilessly  laughed  at  for 
this;  and  the  next  day,  when  we  were  in  the  passage 
by  Cyenvi  Square,  on  our  way  to  school,  he  came  to  a 
halt  saying: 

"You  go  on  ...  I  am  not  coming  ...  I  would 
rather  go  for  a  walk." 

He  squatted  on  his  heels,  carelessly  dug  his  bundle 
of  books  into  the  snow,  and  went  off.  It  was  a  clear 
January  day,  and  the  silver  rays  of  the  sun  fell  all 
round  me.  I  envied  my  cousin  very  much,  but,  harden- 
ing my  heart,  I  went  on  to  school.  I  did  not  want  to 
grieve  my  mother.  The  books  which  Sascha  buried 
disappeared,  of  course,  so  he  had  a  valid  reason  for  not 
going  to  school  the  next  day;  but  on  the  third  day  his 
conduct  was  brought  to  grandfather's  notice.  We 
were  called  up  for  judgment;  in  the  kitchen  grand- 
father, grandmother,  and  mother  sat  at  the  table  and 


274  MY  CHILDHOOD 

cross-examined  us — and  I  shall  never  forget  how  comi- 
cally Sascha  answered  grandfather's  questions. 

"Why  did  n't  you  go  to  school?" 

"I  forgot  where  it  was." 

"Forgot?" 

"Yes.     I  looked  and  looked—" 

"But  you  went  with  Alexei;  he  remembered  where 
it  was." 

"And  I  lost  him." 

"Lost  Lexei?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  that  happen?" 

Sascha  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said,  drawing 
in  his  breath: 

"There  was  a  snowstorm,  and  you  could  n't  see  any- 
thing." 

They  all  smiled — and  the  atmosphere  began  to  clear ; 
even  Sascha  smiled  cautiously.  But  grandfather  said 
maliciously,  showing  his  teeth: 

"But  you  could  have  caught  hold  of  his  arm  or  his 
belt,  could  n't  you?" 

"I  did  catch  hold  of  them,  but  the  wind  tore  them 
away,"  explained  Sascha. 

He  spoke  in  a  lazy,  despondent  tone,  and  I  listened 
uncomfortably  to  this  unnecessary,  clumsy  lie,  amazed 
at  his  obstinacy. 

We  were  thrashed,  and  a  former  fireman,  an  old  man 


MY  CHILDHOOD  275 

with  a  broken  arm,  was  engaged  to  take  us  to  school, 
and  to  watch  that  Sascha  did  not  turn  aside  from  the 
road  of  learning.  But  it  was  no  use.  The  next  day, 
as  soon  as  my  cousin  reached  the  causeway,  he  stooped 
suddenly,  and  pulling  off  one  of  his  high  boots  threw  it 
a  long  way  from  him;  then  he  took  off  the  other  and 
threw  it  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  in  his  stockinged 
feet  ran  across  the  square.  The  old  man,  breathing 
hard,  picked  up  the  boots,  and  thereupon,  terribly 
flustered,  took  me  home. 

All  that  day  grandfather,  grandmother,  and  my 
mother  searched  the  town  for  the  runaway,  and  it  was 
evening  before  they  found  him  in  the  bar  at  Tchirkov's 
Tavern,  entertaining  the  public  by  his  dancing.  They 
took  him  home,  and  actually  did  not  beat  the  shaking, 
stubborn,  silent  lad;  but  as  he  lay  beside  me  in  the 
loft,  with  his  legs  up  and  the  soles  of  his  feet  scraping 
against  the  ceiling,  he  said  softly: 

"My  stepmother  does  not  love  me,  nor  my  father. 
Grandfather  does  not  love  me  either;  why  should  I 
live  with  them4?  So  I  shall  ask  grandmother  to  tell 
me  where  the  robbers  live,  and  I  shall  run  away  to 
them  .  .  .  then  you  will  understand,  all  of  you.  .  .  . 
Why  should  n't  we  run  away  together?" 

I  could  not  run  away  with  him,  for  in  those  days  I 
had  a  work  before  me — I  had  resolved  to  be  an  officer 
with  a  large,  light  beard,  and  for  that  study  was  indis- 


276  MY  CHILDHOOD 

pensable.  When  I  told  my  cousin  of  my  plan,  he 
agreed  with  me,  on  reflection. 

"That 's  a  good  idea  too.  By  the  time  you  are  an 
officer  I  shall  be  a  robber-chief,  and  you  will  have  to 
capture  me,  and  one  of  us  will  have  to  kill  the  other, 
or  take  him  prisoner.  I  shan't  kill  you." 

"Nor  I  you." 

On  that  point  we  were  agreed. 

Then  grandmother  came  in,  and  climbing  on  to  the 
stove,  glanced  up  at  us  and  said: 

"Well,  little  mice?  E— ekh!  Poor  orphans!  .  .  . 
Poor  little  mites !" 

Having  pitied  us,  she  began  to  abuse  Sascha's  step- 
mother— fat  Aunt  Nadejda,  daughter  of  the  inn-keeper, 
going  on  to  abuse  stepmothers  in  general,  and,  apropos, 
told  us  the  story  of  the  wise  hermit  lona,  and  how 
when  he  was  but  a  lad  he  was  judged,  with  his  step- 
mother, by  an  act  of  God.  His  father  was  a  fisherman 
of  the  White  Lake : 

"By  his  young  wife  his  ruin  was  wrought, 
A  potent  liquor  to  him  she  brought, 

Made  of  herbs  which  bring  sleep. 
She  laid  him,  slumbering,  in  a  bark 
Of  oak,  like  a  grave,  so  close  and  dark, 

And  plied  the  maple  oars. 
In  the  lake's  center  she  dug  a  hole, 
For  there  she  had  planned,  in  that  dark  pool, 

To  hide  her  vile  witch  deed. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  277 

Bent  double  she  rocked  from  side  to  side, 

And  the  frail  craft  o'erturned — that  witch  bride ! 

And  her  husband  sank  deep. 
And  the  witch  swam  quickly  to  the  shore 
And  fell  to  the  earth  with  wailings  sore, 

And  womanly  laments. 
The  good  folk  all,  believing  her  tale, 
Wept  with  the  disconsolate  female, 

And  in  bitterness  cried: 
'Oi !     As  wife  thy  life  was  all  too  brief ! 
O'erwhelmed  art  thou  by  wifely  grief; 

But  life  is  God's  affair. 

Death  too  He  sends  when  it  doth  please  Him.' 
Stepson  lonushka  alone  looked  grim, 

Her  tears  not  believing. 
With  his  little  hand  upon  his  heart 
He  swiftly  at  her  these  words  did  dart: 

'Oi!     Fateful  stepmother! 
Oi !     Artful  night-bird,  born  to  deceive ! 
Those  tears  of  yours  I  do  not  believe ! 

It  is  joy  you  feel  not  pain. 
But  we  '11  ask  our  Lord,  my  charge  to  prove, 
And  the  aid  of  all  the  saints  above. 

Let  some  one  take  a  knife, 
And  throw  it  up  to  the  cloudless  sky; 
Blameless  you,  to  me  the  knife  will  fly. 

If  I  am  right,  you  die!' 

The  stepmother  turned  her  baleful  gaze 
On  him,  and  with  hate  her  eyes  did  blaze 

As  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
And  with  vigor  replied  to  the  attack 
Of  her  stepson,  nor  words  did  she  lack. 

'Oh!  creature  without  sense! 


278  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Abortion  you ! — fit  for  rubbish  heap ! 
By  this  invention,  what  do  you  reap  ? 

Answer  you  cannot  give !' 
The  good  folk  looked  on,  but  nothing  said; 
Of  this  dark  business  they  were  afraid. 

Sad  and  pensive  they  stood; 
Then  amongst  themselves  they  held  a  debate, 
And  a  fisherman  old  and  sedate 

Bowing,  advanced  and  said: 
'In  my  right  hand,  good  people,  give  me 
A  steel  knife,  which  I  will  throw,  and  ye 

Shall  see  on  whom  it  falls.' 
A  knife  to  his  hand  was  their  reply. 
High  above  his  gray  head,  to  the  sky, 

The  sharp  blade  he  did  fling. 
Like  a  bird,  up  in  the  air  it  went ; 
Vainly  they  waited  for  its  descent, 

The  crystal  height  scanning. 

Their  hats  they  doffed,  and  closer  pressed  they  stood, 
Silent ;  yea,  Night  herself  seemed  to  brood ; 

But  the  knife  did  not  fall. 
The  ruby  dawn  rose  over  the  lake, 
The  stepmother,  flushed,  did  courage  take 

And  scornfully  did  smile. 
When  like  a  swallow  the  knife  did  dart 
To  earth,  and  fixed  itself  in  her  heart. 


Down  on  their  knees  the  people  did  fall 
Praising  God  Who  is  Ruler  of  All : 

'Thou  are  just,  O  God !' 
lona,  the  fisherman,  did  take, 
And  of  him  a  hermit  did  make. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  279 

Far  away  by  the  bright  River  Kerjentza 

In  a  cell  almost  invisible  from  the  town  Kite j  a."  * 

The  next  day  I  woke  up  covered  with  red  spots,  and 
this  was  the  beginning  of  small-pox. 

They  put  me  up  in  the  back  attic,  and  there  I  lay  for 
a  long  time,  blind,  with  my  hands  and  feet  tightly 
bandaged,  living  through  horrible  nightmares,  in  one 
of  which  I  nearly  died.  No  one  but  grandmother 
came  near  me,  and  she  fed  me  with  a  spoon  as  if  I  were 
a  baby,  and  told  me  stories,  a  fresh  one  every  time, 
from  her  endless  store. 

One  evening,  when  I  was  convalescent,  and  lay  with- 
out bandages,  except  for  my  hands,  which  were  tied  up 
to  prevent  me  from  scratching  my  face,  grandmother, 
for  some  reason  or  'other,  had  not  come  at  her  usual 
time,  which  alarmed  me;  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  saw  her. 
She  was  lying  outside  the  door  on  the  dusty  floor  of 
the  attic,  face  downwards,  with  her  arms  outspread, 
and  her  neck  half  sawed  through,  like  Uncle  Peter's; 
while  from  the  corner,  out  of  the  dusty  twilight,  there 
moved  slowly  towards  her  a  great  cat,  with  its  green 
eyes  greedily  open.  I  sprang  out  of  bed,  bruising  my 
legs  and  shoulders  against  the  window-frame,  and 

1  In  the  year  '90  in  the  village  of  Kolinpanovka,  in  the  Government 
of  Tambov,  and  the  district  Borisoglebsk,  I  heard  another  version  of 
this  legend,  in  which  the  knife  kills  the  stepson  who  ha's  calumniated 
his  stepmother. 


280  MY  CHILDHOOD 

jumped  down  into  the  yard  into  a  snowdrift.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  an  evening  when  mother  had  visitors,  so  no 
one  heard  the  smashing  of  the  glass,  or  the  breaking  of 
the  window-frame,  and  I  had  to  lie  in  the  snow  for 
some  time.  I  had  broken  no  bones,  but  I  had  dislo- 
cated my  shoulder  and  cut  myself  very  much  with  the 
broken  glass,  and  I  had  lost  the  use  of  my  legs,  and  for 
three  months  I  lay  utterly  unable  to  move.  I  lay  still 
and  listened,  and  thought  how  noisy  the  house  had  be- 
come, how  often  they  banged  the  doors  downstairs, 
and  what  a  lot  of  people  seemed  to  be  coming  and 
going. 

Heavy  snowstorms  swept  over  the  roof;  the  wind 
came  and  went  resoundingly  outside  the  door,  sang  a 
funereal  song  down  the  chimney,  and  set  the  dampers 
rattling;  by  day  the  rooks  cawed,  and  in  the  quiet  night 
the  doleful  howling  of  wolves  reached  my  ears — such 
was  the  music  under  whose  influence  my  heart  devel- 
oped. Later  on  shy  spring  peeped  into  the  window 
with  the  radiant  eyes  of  the  March  sun,  timidly  and 
gently  at  first,  but  growing  bolder  and  warmer  every 
day;  she-cats  sang  and  howled  on  the  roof  and  in  the 
loft;  the  rustle  of  spring  penetrated  the  very  walls — 
the  crystal  icicles  broke,  the  half-thawed  snow  fell  off 
the  stable-roof,  and  the  bells  began  to  give  forth  a 
sound  less  clear  than  they  gave  in  winter.  When 
grandmother  came  near  me  her  words  were  more  often 


MY  CHILDHOOD  281 

impregnated  with  the  odor  of  vodka,  which  grew 
stronger  every  day,  until  at  length  she  began  to  bring 
a  large  white  teapot  with  her  and  hide  it  under  my  bed, 
saying  with  a  wink: 

"Don't  you  say  anything  to  that  grandfather  of 
ours,  will  you,  darling4?" 

"Why  do  you  drink?" 

"Never  mind!  When  you  are  grown-up  you'll 
know." 

She  pulled  at  the  spout  of  the  teapot,  wiped  her  lips 
with  her  sleeve,  and  smiled  sweetly  as  she  asked: 

"Well,  my  little  gentleman,  what  do  you  want  me 
to  tell  you  about  this  evening?" 

"About  my  father." 

"Where  shall  I  begin?" 

I  reminded  her,  and  her  speech  flowed  on  like  a 
melodious  stream  for  a  long  time. 

She  had  begun  to  tell  me  about  my  father  of  her 
own  accord  one  day  when  she  had  come  to  me,  nervous, 
sad,  and  tired,  saying: 

"I  have  had  a  dream  about  your  father.  I  thought 
I  saw  him  coming  across  the  fields,  whistling,  and 
followed  by  a  piebald  dog  with  its  tongue  hanging 
out.  For  some  reason  I  have  begun  to  dream  about 
Maxim  Savatyevitch  very  often  ...  it  must  mean 
that  his  soul  is  not  at  rest  ..." 

For  several  evenings  in  succession  she  told  me  my 


282  MY  CHILDHOOD 

father's  history,  which  was  interesting,  as  all  her  stories 
were. 

My  father  was  the  son  of  a  soldier  who  had  worked 
his  way  up  to  be  an  officer  and  was  banished  to  Siberia 
for  cruelty  to  his  subordinates;  and  there — somewhere 
in  Siberia — my  father  was  born.  He  had  an  unhappy 
life,  and  at  a  very  early  age  he  used  to  run  away  from 
home.  Once  grandfather  set  the  dogs  to  track  him 
down  in  the  forest,  as  if  he  were  a  hare ;  another  time, 
having  caught  him,  he  beat  him  so  unmercifully  that 
the  neighbors  took  the  child  away  and  hid  him. 

"Do  they  always  beat  children*?"  I  asked,  and 
grandmother  answered  quietly: 

"Always." 

My  father's  mother  died  early,  and  when  he  was  nine 
years  old  grandfather  also  died,  and  he  was  taken  by 
a  cross-maker,  who  entered  him  on  the  Guild  of  the 
town  of  Perm  and  began  to  teach  him  his  trade ;  but  my 
father  ran  away  from  him,  and  earned  his  living  by 
leading  blind  people  to  the  fairs.  When  he  was  six- 
teen he  came  to  Nijni  and  obtained  work  with  a  joiner 
who  was  a  contractor  for  the  Kolchin  steamboats.  By 
the  time  he  was  twenty  he  was  a  skilled  carpenter,  up- 
holsterer and  decorator.  The  workshop  in  which  he 
was  employed  was  next  door  to  grandfather's  house  in 
Kovalikh  Street. 

"The  fences  were  not  high,  and  certain  people  were 


MY  CHILDHOOD  283 

not  backward,"  said  grandmother,  laughing.  "So  one 
day,  when  Varia  and  I  were  picking  raspberries  in  the 
garden,  who  should  get  over  the  fence  but  your 
father!  ...  I  was  frightened,  foolishly  enough;  but 
there  he  went  amongst  the  apple  trees,  a  fine-looking 
fellow,  in  a  white  shirt,  and  plush  breeches  .  .  .  bare- 
footed and  hatless,  with  long  hair  bound  with  leather 
bands.  That 's  the  way  he  came  courting.  When  I 
saw  him  for  the  first  time  through  the  window,  I  said 
to  myself:  'That's  a  nice  lad!'  So  when  he  came 
close  to  me  now  I  asked  him : 

"  'Why  do  you  come  out  of  your  way  like  this, 
young  man*?' 

"And  he  fell  on  his  knees.  'Akulina/  he  says, 
Tvanovna !  .  .  .  because  my  whole  heart  is  here  .  .  . 
with  Varia.  Help  us,  for  God's  sake!  We  want  to 
get  married.' 

"At  this  I  was  stupefied  and  my  tongue  refused  to 
speak.  I  looked,  and  there  was  your  mother,  the 
rogue,  hiding  behind  an  apple  tree,  all  red — as  red  as 
the  raspberries — and  making  signs  to  him;  but  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  'Oh,  you  rogues !'  I  cried.  'How  have  you  man- 
aged all  this?  Are  you  in  your  senses,  Varvara?  And 
you,  young  man,'  I  said,  'think  what  you  are  doing! 
Do  you  intend  to  get  your  way  by  force*?' 

"At  that  time  grandfather  was  rich,  for  he  had  not 


284  MY  CHILDHOOD 

given  his  children  their  portions,  and  he  had  four 
houses  of  his  own,  and  money,  and  he  was  ambitious; 
not  long  before  that  they  had  given  him  a  laced  hat 
and  a  uniform  because  he  had  been  head  of  the  Guild 
for  nine  years  without  a  break — and  he  was  proud  in 
those  days.  I  said  to  them  what  it  was  my  duty  to 
say,  but  all  the  time  I  trembled  for  fear  and  felt  very 
sorry  for  them  too;  they  had  both  become  so  gloomy. 
Then  said  your  father: 

"  'I  know  quite  well  that  Vassili  Vassilitch  will  not 
consent  to  give  Varia  to  me,  so  I  shall  steal  her;  only 
you  must  help  us.' 

"So  I  was  to  help  them.  I  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  him,  but  he  would  not  be  turned  from  his  pur- 
pose. 'You  may  stone  me  or  you  may  help  me,  it  is 
all  the  same  to  me — I  shall  not  give  in,'  he  said. 

"Then  Varvara  went  to  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  said :  'We  have  been  talking  of  getting 
married  a  long  time — we  ought  to  have  been  married  in 
May.' 

"How  I  started !     Good  Lord !" 

Grandmother  began  to  laugh,  and  her  whole  body 
shook;  then  she  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  dried  her  eyes 
and  said,  sighing  comfortably: 

"You  can't  understand  that  yet  .  .  .  you  don't 
know  what  marrying  means  .  .  .  but  this  you  can  un- 
derstand— that  for  a  girl  to  give  birth  to  a  child  be- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  285 

fore  she  is  married  is  a  dreadful  calamity.  Remem- 
ber that,  and  when  you  are  grown-up  never  tempt  a 
girl  in  that  way ;  it  would  be  a  great  sin  on  your  part — 
the  girl  would  be  disgraced,  and  the  child  illegitimate. 
See  that  you  don't  forget  that !  You  must  be  kind  to 
women,  and  love  them  for  their  own  sakes,  and  not  for 
the  sake  of  self-indulgence.  This  is  good  advice  I  am 
giving  you." 

She  fell  into  a  reverie,  rocking  herself  in  her  chair; 
then,  shaking  herself,  she  began  again: 

"Well,  what  was  to  be  done?  I  hit  Maxim  on  the 
forehead,  and  pulled  Varia's  plait;  but  he  said  rea- 
sonably enough:  'Quarreling  won't  put  things  right.' 
And  she  said :  'Let  us  think  what  is  the  best  thing  to 
do  first,  and  have  a  row  afterwards.' 

"  'Have  you  any  money*?'  I  asked  him. 

"  'I  had  some,'  he  replied,  'but  I  bought  Varia  a  ring 
with  it.' 

"  'How  much  did  you  have  then*?' 

"  'Oh,'  says  he,  'about  a  hundred  roubles.' 

"Now  at  that  time  money  was  scarce  and  things  were 
dear,  and  I  looked  at  the  two — your  mother  and 
father — and  I  said  to  myself:  'What  children!  .  .  . 
What  young. fools!' 

"  'I  hid  the  ring  under  the  floor,'  said  your  mother, 
'so  that  you  should  not  see  it.  We  can  sell  it.' 

"Such  children  they  were — both  of  them!     How- 


286  MY  CHILDHOOD 

ever,  we  discussed  the  ways  and  means  for  them  to  be 
married  in  a  week's  time,  and  I  promised  to  arrange 
the  matter  with  the  priest.  But  I  felt  very  uncom- 
fortable myself,  and  my  heart  went  pit-a-pat,  because 
I  was  so  frightened  of  grandfather;  and  Varia  was 
frightened  too,  painfully  so.  Well,  we  arranged  it 
all! 

"But  your  father  had  an  enemy — a  certain  work- 
man, an  evil-minded  man  who  had  guessed  what  was 
going  on  long  ago,  and  now  watched  our  movements. 
Well,  I  arrayed  my  only  daughter  in  the  best  things 
I  could  get,  and  took  her  out  to  the  gate,  where  there 
was  a  troika  waiting.  She  got  into  it,  Maxim  whistled, 
and  away  they  drove.  I  was  going  back  to  the  house, 
in  tears,  when  I  ran  across  this  man,  who  said  in  a 
cringing  tone: 

"  'I  have  a  good  heart,  and  I  shall  not  interfere  with 
the  workings  of  Fate;  only,  Akulina  Ivanovna,  you 
must  give  me  fifty  roubles  for  keeping  quiet.' 

"But  I  had  no  money;  I  did  not  like  it,  nor  care  to 
save  it,  and  so  I  told  him,  like  a  fool: 

"  'I  have  no  money,  so  I  can't  give  you  any.' 

"  'Well,'  he  said,  'you  can  promise  it  to  me.' 

"  'How  can  I  do  that?  Where  am  I  to  get  it  from 
after  I  have  promised?' 

"  'Is  it  so  difficult  to  steal  from  a  rich  husband?'  he 
says. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  287 

"  'If  I  had  not  been  a  fool  I  should  have  temporized 
with  him ;  but  I  spat  full  in  his  ugly  mug,  and  went  into 
the  house.  And  he  rushed  into  the  yard  and  raised  a 
hue  and  cry." 

Closing  her  eyes,  she  said,  smiling: 

"Even  now  I  have  a  lively  remembrance  of  that 
daring  deed  of  mine.  Grandfather  roared  like  a  wild 
beast,  and  wanted  to  know  if  they  were  making  fun  of 
him.  As  it  happened,  he  had  been  taking  stock  of 
Varia  lately,  and  boasting  about  her:  'I  shall  marry 
her  to  a  nobleman — a  gentleman !'  Here  was  a  pretty 
nobleman  for  him! — here  was  a  pretty  gentleman! 
But  the  Holy  Mother  of  God  knows  better  than  we 
do  what  persons  ought  to  be  drawn  together. 

"Grandfather  tore  about  the  yard  as  if  he  were  on 
fire,  calling  Jaakov  and  Michael  and  even — at  the 
suggestion  of  that  wicked  workman — Klima,  the  coach- 
man too.  I  saw  him  take  a  leathern  strap  with  a 
weight  tied  on  the  end  of  it,  and  Michael  seized  his 
gun.  We  had  good  horses  then,  full  of  spirit,  and 
the  carriage  was  light.  'Ah  well !'  I  thought,  'they  are 
sure  to  overtake  them.'  But  here  Varia's  Guardian 
Angel  suggested  something  to  me.  I  took  a  knife  and 
cut  the  ropes  belonging  to  the  shafts.  'There!  they 
will  break  down  on  the  road  now.'  And  so  they  did. 
The  shafts  came  unfastened  on  the  way,  and  nearly 
killed  grandfather  and  Michael — and  Klima  too,  be- 


288  MY  CHILDHOOD 

sides  delaying  them;  and  by  the  time  they  had  repaired 
it,  and  dashed  up  to  the  church,  Varia  and  Maxim 
were  standing  in  the  church  porch  married — thank 
God! 

"Then  our  people  started  a  fight  with  Maxim;  but 
he  was  in  very  good  condition  and  he  was  rare  and 
strong.  He  threw  Michael  away  from  the  porch  and 
broke  his  arm.  Klima  also  was  injured;  and  grand- 
father and  Jaakov  and  that  workman  were  all  fright- 
ened! 

"Even  in  his  rage  he  did  not  lose  his  presence  of 
mind,  but  he  said  to  grandfather: 

"  'You  can  throw  away  that  strap.  Don't  wave  it 
about  over  me,  for  I  am  a  man  of  peace,  and  what  I 
have  taken  is  only  what  God  gave  me,  and  no  man 
shall  take  from  me  ...  and  that  is  all  I  have  to  say  to 
you.' 

"They  gave  it  up  then,  and  grandfather  returned  to 
the  carriage  crying: 

"  'It  is  good-by  now,  Varvara !  You  are  no  daugh- 
ter of  mine,  and  I  never  wish  to  see  you  again,  either 
alive  or  dead  of  hunger.' 

"When  he  came 'home  he  beat  me,  and  he  scolded 
me;  but  all  I  did  was  to  groan  and  hold  my  tongue. 

"Everything  passes  away,  and  what  is  to  be  will  be. 
After  this  he  said  to  me : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  289 

"  'Now,  look  here,  Akulina,  you  have  no  daughter 
now.  Remember  that.' 

"But  I  only  said  to  myself: 

"  'Tell  more  lies,  sandy-haired,  spiteful  man — say 
that  ice  is  warm !' ' 

I  listened  attentively,  greedily.  Some  part  of  her 
story  surprised  me,  for  grandfather  had  given  quite  a 
different  account  of  mother's  wedding;  he  said  that  he 
had  been  against  the  marriage  and  had  forbidden 
mother  to  his  house  after  it,  but  the  wedding  had  not 
been  secret,  and  he  had  been  present  in  the  church.  I 
did  not  like  to  ask  grandmother  which  of  them  spoke 
the  truth,  because  her  story  was  the  more  beautiful  of 
the  two,  and  I  liked  it  best. 

When  she  was  telling  a  story  she  rocked  from  side 
to  side  all  the  time,  just  as  if  she  were  in  a  boat.  If 
she  was  relating  something  sad  or  terrible,  she  rocked 
more  violently,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  as  if  she 
were  pushing  away  something  in  the  air;  she  often 
covered  her  eyes,  while  a  sightless,  kind  smile  hid  itself 
in  her  wrinkled  cheek,  but  her  thick  eyebrows  hardly 
moved.  Sometimes  this  uncritical  friendliness  of  hers 
to  everybody  touched  my  heart,  and  sometimes  I 
wished  that  she  would  use  strong  language  and  assert 
herself  more. 

"At  first,  for  two  weeks,  I  did  not  know  where 


290  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Varvara  and  Maxim  were;  then  a  little  barefooted 
boy  was  sent  to  tell  me.  I  went  to  see  them  on  a  Sat- 
urday— I  was  supposed  to  be  going  to  vespers,  but  I 
went  to  them  instead.  They  lived  a  long  way  off,  on 
the  Suetinsk  Slope,  in  the  wing  of  a  house  overlooking 
a  yard  belonging  to  some  works — a  dusty,  dirty,  noisy 
place;  but  they  did  not  mind  it — they  were  like  two 
cats,  quite  happy,  purring,  and  even  playing  together. 
I  took  them  what  I  could — tea,  sugar,  cereals  of  various 
kinds,  jam,  flour,  dried  mushrooms,  and  a  small  sum 
of  money  which  I  had  got  from  grandfather  on  the 
quiet.  You  are  allowed  to  steal,  you  know,  when  it  is 
not  for  yourself. 

"But  your  father  would  not  take  anything.  'What ! 
Are  we  beggars'?'  he  says. 

"And  Varvara  played  the  same  tune.  'Ach!  .  .  . 
What  is  this  for,  Mamasha'?' 

"I  gave  them  a  lecture.  'You  young  fools !'  I  said. 
'Who  am  I,  I  should  like  to  know1?  ...  I  am  the 
mother  God  gave  you  .  .  .  and  you,  silly,  are  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  Are  you  going  to  offend  me  ?  Don't 
you  know  that  when  you  offend  your  mother  on  earth, 
the  Mother  of  God  in  Heaven  weeps  bitterly*?' 

"Then  Maxim  seized  me  in  his  arms  and  carried  me 
round  the  room  ...  he  actually  danced — he  was 
strong,  the  bear!  And  Varvara  there,  the  hussy,  was 
as  proud  as  a  peacock  of  her  husband,  and  kept  looking 


MY  CHILDHOOD  291 

at  him  as  if  he  were  a  new  doll,  and  talked  about  house- 
keeping with  such  an  air — you  would  have  thought  she 
was  an  old  hand  at  it !  It  was  comical  to  listen  to  her. 
And  she  gave  us  cheese-cakes  for  tea  which  would  have 
broken  the  teeth  of  a  wolf,  and  curds  all  sprinkled  with 
dust. 

"Things  went  on  like  this  for  a  long  time,  and  your 
birth  was  drawing  near,  but  still  grandfather  never 
said  a  word — he  is  obstinate,  our  old  man !  I  went  to 
see  them  on  the  quiet,  and  he  knew  it;  but  he  pretended 
not  to.  It  was  forbidden  to  any  one  in  the  house  to 
speak  of  Varia,  so  she  was  never  mentioned.  I  said 
nothing  about  her  either,  but  I  knew  that  a  father's 
heart  could  not  be  dumb  for  long.  And  at  last  the 
critical  moment  arrived.  It  was  night;  there  was  a 
snowstorm  raging,  and  it  sounded  as  if  bears  were 
throwing  themselves  against  the  window.  The  wind 
howled  down  the  chimneys;  all  the  devils  were  let 
loose.  Grandfather  and  I  were  in  bed  but  we  could 
not  sleep. 

"  'It  is  bad  for  the  poor  on  such  a  night  as  this,'  I 
remarked;  'but  it  is  worse  for  those  whose  minds  are 
not  at  rest.' 

"Then  grandfather  suddenly  asked: 
"  'How  are  they  getting  on?     All  right?' 
"  'Who  are  you  talking  about*?'  I  asked.     'About 
our  daughter  Varvara  and  our  son-in-law  Maxim*?' 


292  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"  'How  did  you  guess  who  I  meant1?' 

"  'That  will  do,  Father,'  I  said.  'Suppose  you  leave 
off  playing  the  fool"?  What  pleasure  is  to  be  got  out 
of  it? 

"He  drew  in  his  breath.  'Ach,  you  devil !'  he  said. 
'You  gray  devil !' 

"Later  on  he  said:  'They  say  he  is  a  great  fool' 
(he  was  speaking  of  your  father).  'Is  it  true  that  he 
is  a  fool?' 

"  'A  fool,'  I  said,  'is  a  person  who  won't  work,  and 
hangs  round  other  people's  necks.  You  look  at 
Jaakov  and  Michael,  for  instance;  don't  they  live  like 
fools?  Who  is  the  worker  in  this  house?  Who 
earns  the  money?  You!  And  are  they  much  use  as 
assistants  ?' 

"Then  he  fell  to  scolding  me — I  was  a  fool,  an  ab- 
ject creature  and  a  bawd,  and  I  don't  know  what  else. 
I  held  my  tongue. 

"  'How  can  you  allow  yourself  to  be  taken  in  by  a 
man  like  that,  when  no  one  knows  where  he  came  from 
or  what  he  is?' 

"I  kept  quiet  until  he  was  tired,  and  then  I  said: 

"  'You  ought  to  go  and  see  how  they  are  living. 
They  are  getting  along  all  right.' 

"  'That  would  be  doing  them  too  much  honor,'  he 
said.  'Let  them  come  here.' 


MY  CHILDHOOD  293 

"At  this  I  cried  for  joy,  and  he  loosened  my  hair 
(he  loved  to  play  with  my  hair)  and  muttered: 

"  'Don't  upset  yourself,  stupid.  Do  you  think  I 
have  not  got  a  heart?' 

"He  used  to  be  very  good,  you  know,  our  grand- 
father, before  he  got  an  idea  into  his  head  that  he  was 
cleverer  than  any  one  else,  and  then  he  became  spite- 
ful and  stupid. 

"Well,  so  they  came,  your  father  and  mother,  one 
Saint's  Day — both  of  them  large  and  sleek  and  neat; 
and  Maxim  stood  in  front  of  grandfather,  who  laid 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder — he  stood  there  and  he 
said: 

"  'Don't  think,  Vassili  Vassilitch,  that  I  have  come  to 
you  for  a  dowry ;  I  have  come  to  do  honor  to  my  wife's 
father.' 

"Grandfather  was  very  pleased  at  this,  and  burst 
out  laughing.  'Ach! — you  fighter!'  he  said.  'You 
robber !  Well,'  he  said,  'we  '11  be  indulgent  for  once. 
Come  and  live  with  me.' 

"Maxim  wrinkled  his  forehead.  'That  must  be  as 
Varia  wishes,'  he  said.  'It  is  all  the  same  to  me/ 

"And  then  it  began.  They  were  at  each  other  tooth 
and  nail  all  the  time;  they  could  not  get  on  together 
anyhow.  I  used  to  wink  at  your  father  and  kick  him 
under  the  table,  but  it  was  no  use;  he  would  stick  to 


294  MY  CHILDHOOD 

his  own  opinion.  He  had  very  fine  eyes,  very  bright 
and  clear,  and  his  brows  were  dark,  and  when  he  drew 
them  together  his  eyes  were  almost  hidden,  and  his 
face  became  stony  and  stubborn.  He  would  not  listen 
to  any  one  but  me.  I  loved  him,  if  possible,  more 
than  my  own  children,  and  he  knew  this  and  loved  me 
too.  Sometimes  he  would  hug  me,  and  catch  me  up  in 
his  arms,  and  drag  me  round  the  room,  saying:  'You 
are  my  real  mother,  like  the  earth.  I  love  you  more 
than  I  love  Varvara.'  And  your  mother  (when  she 
was  happy  she  was  very  saucy)  would  fly  at  him  and 
cry:  'How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing,  you  rascal1?' 
And  the  three  of  us  would  romp  together.  Ah!  we 
were  happy  then,  my  dear.  He  used  to  dance  won- 
derfully well  too — and  such  beautiful  songs  he  knew. 
He  picked  them  up  from  the  blind  people;  and  there 
are  no  better  singers  than  the  blind. 

"Well,  they  settled  themselves  in  the  outbuilding 
in  the  garden,  and  there  you  were  born  on  the  stroke 
of  noon.  Your  father  came  home  to  dinner,  and  you 
were  there  to  greet  him.  He  was  so  delighted  that  he 
was  almost  beside  himself,  and  nearly  tired  your  mother 
out;  as  if  he  did  not  realize,  the  stupid  creature,  what 
an  ordeal  it  is  to  bring  a  child  into  the  world.  He 
put  me  on  his  shoulder  and  carried  me  right  across  the 
yard  to  grandfather  to  tell  him  the  news — that  another 
grandson  had  appeared  on  the  scene.  Even  grand- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  295 

father  laughed :     'What  a  demon  you  are,  Maxim !'  he 
said. 

"But  your  uncles  did  not  like  him.  He  did  not 
drink  wine,  he  was  bold  in  his  speech,  and  clever  in  all 
kinds  of  tricks — for  which  he  was  bitterly  paid  out. 
One  day,  for  instance,  during  the  great  Fast,  the  wind 
sprang  up,  and  all  at  once  a  terrible  howling  resounded 
through  the  house.  We  were  all  stupefied.  What 
did  it  mean?  Grandfather  himself  was  terrified,  or- 
dered lamps  to  be  lit  all  over  the  house,  and  ran  about, 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice:  'We  must  offer  up 
prayers  together!' 

"And  suddenly  it  stopped — which  frightened  us  still 
more.  Then  Uncle  Jaakov  guessed.  'This  is  Max- 
im's doing,  I  am  sure!'  he  said.  And  afterwards 
Maxim  himself  confessed  that  he  had  put  bottles  and 
glasses  of  various  kinds  in  the  dormer-window,  and  the 
wind  blowing  down  the  necks  of  the  vessels  produced 
the  sounds,  all  by  itself.  'These  jokes  will  land  you 
in  Siberia  again  if  you  don't  take  care,  Maxim,'  said 
grandfather  menacingly. 

"One  year  there  was  a  very  hard  frost  and  wolves 
began  to  come  into  the  towns  from  the  fields;  they 
killed  the  dogs,  frightened  the  horses,  ate  up  tipsy 
watchmen,  and  caused  a  great  panic.  But  your  father 
took  his  gun,  put  on  his  snow-shoes,  and  tracked  down 
two  wolves.  He  skinned  them,  cleaned  out  their 


296  MY  CHILDHOOD 

heads,  and  put  in  glass  eyes — made  quite  a  good  job 
of  it,  in  fact.  Well,  Uncle  Michael  went  into  the  ves- 
tibule for  something,  and  came  running  back  at 
once,  with  his  hair  on  end,  his  eyes  rolling,  gasping  for 
breath,  and  unable  to  speak.  At  length  he  whispered : 
'Wolf!'  Every  one  seized  anything  which  came  to 
hand  in  the  shape  of  a  weapon,  and  rushed  into  the 
vestibule  with  lights;  they  looked  and  saw  a  wolf's  head 
sticking  out  from  behind  a  raised  platform.  They 
beat  him,  they  fired  at  him — and  what  do  you  think 
he  was1?  They  looked  closer,  and  saw  that  it  was 
nothing  but  a  skin  and  an  empty  head,  and  its  front 
feet  were  nailed  to  the  platform.  This  time  grand- 
father was  really  very  angry  with  Maxim. 

"And  then  Jaakov  must  begin  to  join  in  these  pranks. 
Maxim  cut  a  head  out  of  cardboard,  and  made  a  nose, 
eyes,  and  a  mouth  on  it,  glued  tow  on  it  to  represent 
hair,  and  then  went  out  into  the  street  with  Jaakov, 
and  thrust  that  dreadful  face  in  at  the  windows;  and 
of  course  people  were  terrified  and  ran  away  screaming. 
Another  night  they  went  out  wrapped  in  sheets  and 
frightened  the  priest,  who  rushed  into  a  sentry-box; 
and  the  sentry,  as  much  frightened  as  he  was,  called  the 
police.  And  many  other  wanton  tricks  like  this  they 
played;  and  nothing  would  stop  them.  I  begged  them 
to  give  up  their  nonsense,  and  so  did  Varia,  but  it  was 
no  good;  they  would  not  leave  off.  Maxim  only 


MY  CHILDHOOD  297 

laughed.  It  made  his  sides  ache  with  laughing,  he 
said,  to  see  how  folk  ran  wild  with  terror,  and  broke 
their  heads  because  of  his  nonsense.  'Come  and  speak 
to  them!'  he  would  say. 

"And  it  all  came  back  on  his  own  head  and  nearly 
caused  his  ruin.  Your  Uncle  Michael,  who  was  al- 
ways with  grandfather,  was  easily  offended  and  vin- 
dictively disposed,  and  he  thought  out  a  way  to  get  rid 
of  your  father.  It  was  in  the  beginning  of  winter 
and  they  were  coming  away  from  a  friend's  house,  four 
of  them — Maxim,  your  uncles,  and  a  deacon,  who  was 
degraded  afterwards  for  killing  a  cabman.  They  came 
out  of  Yamski  Street  and  persuaded  Maxim  to  go 
round  by  the  Dinkov  Pond,  pretending  that  they  were 
going  to  skate.  They  began  to  slide  on  the  ice  like 
boys  and  drew  him  on  to  an  ice-hole,  and  then  they 
pushed  him  in — but  I  have  told  you  about  that." 

"Why  are  my  uncles  so  bad*?" 

"They  are  not  bad,"  said  grandmother  calmly,  tak- 
ing a  pinch  of  snuff.  "They  are  simply  stupid. 
Mischka  is  cunning  and  stupid  as  well,  but  Jaakov  is 
a  good  fellow,  taking  him  all  round.  Well,  they 
pushed  him  into  the  water,  but  as  he  went  down  he 
clutched  at  the  edge  of  the  ice-hole,  and  they  struck  at 
his  hands,  crushing  his  fingers  with  their  heels.  By 
good  luck  he  was  sober,  while  they  were  tipsy,  and  with 
God's  help  he  dragged  himself  from  under  the  ice,  and 


298  MY  CHILDHOOD 

kept  himself  face  upwards  in  the  middle  of  the  hole, 
so  that  he  could  breathe;  but  they  could  not  get  hold 
of  him,  and  after  a  time  they  left  him,  with  his  head 
surrounded  by  ice,  to  drown.  But  he  climbed  out,  and 
ran  to  the  police-station — it  is  quite  close,  you  know, 
in  the  market-place.  The  Inspector  on  duty  knew  him 
and  all  the  family,  and  he  asked :  'How  did  this  hap- 
pen4?' " 

Grandmother  crossed  herself  and  went  on  in  a  grate- 
ful tone : 

"God  rest  the  soul  of  Maxim  Savatyevitch !  He 
deserves  it,  for  you  must  know  that  he  hid  the  truth 
from  the  police.  'It  was  my  own  fault,'  he  said.  'I 
had  been  drinking,  and  I  wandered  on  to  the  pond, 
and  tumbled  down  an  ice-hole.' 

"  'That 's  not  true,'  said  the  Inspector;  'you  've  not 
been  drinking.' 

"Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  was  that  they  rubbed 
him  with  brandy,  put  dry  clothes  on  him,  wrapped  him 
in  a  sheep-skin,  and  brought  him  home — the  Inspector 
himself  and  two  others.  Jaaschka  and  Mischka  had 
not  returned ;  they  had  gone  to  a  tavern  to  celebrate  the 
occasion.  Your  mother  and  I  looked  at  Maxim.  He 
was  quite  unlike  himself;  his  face  was  livid,  his  fingers 
were  bruised,  and  there  was  dry  blood  on  them,  and 
his  curls  seemed  to  be  flecked  with  snow — only  it  did 
not  melt.  He  had  turned  gray ! 


MY  CHILDHOOD  299 

"Varvara  screamed  out  'What  have  they  done  to 
you?' 

"The  Inspector,  scenting  the  truth,  began  to  ask 
questions,  and  I  felt  in  my  heart  that  something  very 
bad  had  happened. 

"I  put  Varia  off  on  to  the  Inspector,  and  I  tried  to 
get  the  truth  out  of  Maxim  quietly.  'What  has  hap- 
pened?' 

"  'The  first  thing  you  must  do,'  he  whispered,  'is 
to  lie  in  wait  for  Jaakov  and  Michael  and  tell  them 
that  they  are  to  say  that  they  parted  from  me  at  Yam- 
ski  Street  and  went  to  Pokrovski  Street,  while  I  turned 
off  at  Pryadilni  Lane.  Don't  mix  it  up  now,  or  we 
shall  have  trouble  with  the  police.' 

"I  went  to  grandfather  and  said :  'Go  and  talk  to 
the  Inspector  while  I  go  and  wait  for  our  sons  to  tell 
them  what  evil  has  befallen  us.' 

"He  dressed  himself,  all  of  a  tremble,  muttering: 
T  knew  how  it  would  be!  This  is  what  I  expected.' 

"All  lies !  He  knew  nothing  of  the  kind.  Well,  I 
met  my  children  with  my  hands  before  my  face.  Fear 
sobered  Mischka  at  once,  and  Jaashenka,  the  dear  boy, 
let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  by  babbling:  'I  don't  know 
anything  about  it.  It  is  all  Michael's  doing.  He  is 
the  eldest.' 

"However,  we  made  it  all  right  with  the  Inspector. 
He  was  a  very  nice  gentleman.  'Oh,'  he  says,  'but 


300  MY  CHILDHOOD 

you  had  better  take  care;  if  anything  bad  happens  in 
your  house  I  shall  know  who  is  to  blame.'  And  with 
that  he  went  away. 

"And  grandfather  went  to  Maxim  and  said: 
'Thank  you!  Any  one  else  in  your  place  would  not 
have  acted  as  you  have  done — that  I  know!  And 
thank  you,  daughter,  for  bringing  such  a  good  man 
into  your  father's  house.'  Grandfather  could  speak 
very  nicely  when  he  liked.  It  was  after  this  that  he 
began  to  be  silly,  and  keep  his  heart  shut  up  like  a 
castle. 

"We  three  were  left  together.  Maxim  Savatyevitch 
began  to  cry,  and  became  almost  delirious.  'Why 
have  they  done  this  to  me1?  What  harm  have  I  done 
them?  Mama  .  .  .  why  did  they  do  it?'  He  never 
called  me  'mamasha,'  but  always  'mama,'  like  a  child 
.  .  .  and  he  was  really  a  child  in  character.  'Why 
...  ?'  he  asked. 

"I  cried  too — what  else  was  there  for  me  to  do?  I 
was  so  sorry  for  my  children.  Your  mother  tore  all 
the  buttons  off  her  bodice,  and  sat  there,  all  dishevelled 
as  if  she  had  been  fighting,  calling  out:  'Let  us  go 
away,  Maxim.  My  brothers  are  our  enemies;  I  am 
afraid  of  them.  Let  us  go  away!' 

"I  tried  to  quieten  her.  'Don't  throw  rubbish  on 
the  fire,'  I  said.  'The  house  is  full  of  smoke  without 
that.' 


MY  CHILDHOOD  301 

"At  that  very  moment  that  fool  of  a  grandfather 
must  go  and  send  those  two  to  beg  forgiveness;  she 
sprang  at  Mischka  and  slapped  his  face.  'There  's  your 
forgiveness!'  she  said.  And  your  father  complained: 
'How  could  you  do  such  a  thing,  brothers?  You 
might  have  crippled  me.  What  sort  of  a  workman 
shall  I  be  without  hands'?' 

"However,  they  were  reconciled.  Your  father  was 
ailing  for  some  time;  for  seven  weeks  he  tossed  about, 
and  got  no  better,  and  he  kept  saying:  £Ekh! 
Mama,  let  us  go  to  another  town;  I  am  weary  of  this 
place.' 

"Then  he  had  a  chance  of  going  to  Astrakhan;  they 
expected  the  Emperor  there  in  the  summer,  and  your 
father  was  entrusted  with  the  building  of  a  triumphal 
arch.  They  sailed  on  the  first  boat.  It  cut  me  to  the 
heart  to  part  from  them,  and  he  was  grieved  about  it 
too,  and  kept  saying  to  me  that  I  ought  to  go  with  them 
to  Astrakhan;  but  Varvara  rejoiced,  and  did  not  even 
try  to  hide  her  joy — the  hussy!  And  so  they  went 
away  .  .  .  and  that  is  all!" 

She  drank  a  drop  of  vodka,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff, 
and  added,  gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the  dark  blue 
sky: 

"Yes,  your  father  and  I  were  not  of  the  same  blood, 
but  in  soul  we  were  akin." 

Sometimes,  while  she  was  telling  me  this,  grand- 


302  MY  CHILDHOOD 

father  came  in  with  his  face  uplifted,  sniffed  the  air 
with  his  sharp  nose,  and  looking  suspiciously  at  grand- 
mother, listened  to  what  she  was  saying  and  muttered : 

"That's  not  true!     That's  not  true!" 

Then  he  would  ask,  without  warning: 

"Lexei,  has  she  been  drinking  brandy  here*?" 

"No." 

"That 's  a  lie,  for  I  saw  her  with  my  own  eyes !" 
And  he  would  go  out  in  an  undecided  manner. 

Grandmother  would  wink  at  him  behind  his  back 
and  utter  some  quaint  saying: 

"Go  along,  Avdye,  and  don't  frighten  the  horses." 

One  day,  as  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
staring  at  the  floor,  he  said  softly: 

"Mother?" 

"Aye?" 

"You  see  what  is  going  on*?" 

"Yes,  I  see!" 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"There  '11  be  a  wedding,  Father.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  you  used  to  talk  about  a  nobleman?" 

"Yes." 

"Well— here  he  is!" 

"He  's  got  nothing." 

"That 's  her  business." 

Grandfather  left  the  room,  and  conscious  of  a  sense 
of  uneasiness,  I  asked: 


MY  CHILDHOOD  303 

"What  were  you  talking  about*?" 

"You  want  to  know  everything,"  she  replied  quer- 
ulously, rubbing  my  feet.  "If  you  know  everything 
when  you  are  young,  there  will  be  nothing  to  ask  ques- 
tions about  when  you  get  old."  And  she  laughed  and 
shook  her  head  at  me. 

"Oh,  grandfather!  grandfather!  you  are  nothing 
but  a  little  piece  of  dust  in  the  eyes  of  God.  Lenka 
— now  don't  you  tell  any  one  this,  but  grandfather  is 
absolutely  ruined.  He  lent  a  certain  gentleman  a  large 
sum  of  money,  and  now  the  gentleman  has  gone  bank- 
rupt." 

Smiling,  she  fell  into  a  reverie,  and  sat  without 
speaking  for  a  long  time ;  and  her  face  became  wrinkled, 
and  sad,  and  gloomy. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about*?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  something  to  tell  you,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  start.  "Shall  we  have  the  story  about 
Evstignia  *?  Will  that  do4?  Well,  here  goes  then. 

"A  deacon  there  was  called  Evstignia, 
He  thought  there  was  no  one  more  wise  than  he, 
Be  he  presbyter,  or  be  he  boyard ; 
Not  even  a  huntsman  knew  more  than  he. 
Like  a  spike  of  spear  grass  he  held  himself, 
So  proud,  and  taught  his  neighbors  great  and  small ; 
He  found  fault  with  this,  and  grumbled  at  that ; 
He  glanced  at  a  church — 'Not  lofty  enough !' 


304  MY  CHILDHOOD 

He  passed  up  a  street — 'How  narrow !'  he  said. 
An  apple  he  plucked — 'It  not  red !'  he  said. 
The  sun  rose  too  soon  for  Evstignia! 
In  all  the  world  there  was  nothing  quite  right!" 

Grandmother  puffed  out  her  cheeks,  and  rolled  her 
eyes;  her  kind  face  assumed  a  stupid,  comical  expres- 
sion as  she  went  on  in  a  lazy,  dragging  voice : 

"  'There  is  nothing  I  could  not  do  myself, 
And  do  it  much  better,  I  think,'  he  said, 
'If  I  only  had  a  little  more  time !'  " 

She  was  smilingly  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
she  continued: 

"To  the  deacon  one  night  some  devils  came ; 
'So  you  find  it  dull  here,  deacon*?'  they  said. 
'Well,  come  along  with  us,  old  fellow,  to  hell, 
You  '11  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the  fires  there.' 
Ere  the  wise  deacon  could  put  on  his  hat 
The  devils  seized  hold  of  him  with  their  paws 
And,  with  titters  and  howls,  they  dragged  him  down. 
A  devil  on  each  of  his  shoulders  sat, 
And  there,  in  the  flames  of  hell  they  set  him. 
'Is  it  all  right,  Evstignyeushka  ?' 
The  deacon  was  roasting,  brightly  he  burned, 
Kept  himself  up  with  his  hands  to  his  sides, 
Puffed  out  his  lips  as  he  scornfully  said : 
'It 's  dreadfully  smoky  down  here — in  hell !'  " 

Concluding  in  an  indolent,  low-pitched,  unctuous 
voice,  she  changed  her  expression  and,  laughing  quietly, 
explained : 


MY  CHILDHOOD  305 

"He  would  not  give  in — that  Evstignia,  but  stuck 
to  his  own  opinion  obstinately,  like  our  grandfather. 
.  .  .  That 's  enough  now ;  go  to  sleep ;  it  is  high  time." 

Mother  came  up  to  the  attic  to  see  me  very  seldom, 
and  she  did  not  stay  long,  and  spoke  as  if  she  were  in 
a  hurry.  She  was  getting  more  beautiful,  and  was 
dressed  better  every  day,  but  I  was  conscious  of  some- 
thing different  about  her,  as  about  grandmother;  I  felt 
that  there  was  something  going  on  which  was  being 
kept  from  me — and  I  tried  to  guess  what  it  was. 

Grandmother's  stories  interested  me  less  and  less, 
even  the  ones  she  told  me  about  my  father;  and  they 
did  not  soothe  my  indefinable  but  daily  increasing 
alarm. 

"Why  is  my  father's  soul  not  at  rest*?"  I  asked  grand- 
mother. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  she  replied,  covering  her  eyes. 
"That  is  God's  affair  ...  it  is  supernatural  .  .  .  and 
hidden  from  us." 

At  night,  as  I  gazed  sleeplessly  through  the  dark  blue 
windows  at  the  stars  floating  so  slowly  across  the  sky, 
I  made  up  some  sad  story  in  my  mind — in  which  the 
chief  place  was  occupied  by  my  father,  who  was  always 
wandering  about  alone,  with  a  stick  in  his  hand,  and 
with  a  shaggy  dog  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ONE  day  I  fell  asleep  before  the  evening,  and  when 
I  woke  up  I  felt  that  my  legs  had  waked  up  too. 
I  put  them  out  of  bed,  and  they  became  numb  again; 
but  the  fact  remained  that  my  legs  were  cured  and  that 
I  should  be  able  to  walk.  This  was  such  glorious  news 
that  I  shouted  for  joy,  and  put  my  feet  to  the  floor  with 
the  whole  weight  of  my  body  on  them.  I  fell  down, 
but  I  crawled  to  the  door  and  down  the  staircase, 
vividly  representing  to  myself  the  surprise  of  those 
downstairs  when  they  should  see  me. 

I  do  not  remember  how  I  got  into  mother's  room 
on  my  knees;  but  there  were  some  strangers  with  her, 
and  one,  a  dried-up  old  woman  in  green,  said  sternly, 
drowning  all  other  voices: 

"Give  him  some  raspberry  syrup  to  drink,  and  cover 
up  his  head." 

She  was  green  all  over:  her  dress,  and  hat,  and  her 
face,  which  had  warts  under  the  eyes;  even  the  tufts 
of  hair  on  the  warts  were  like  grass.  Letting  her 
lower  lip  droop,  she  raised  the  upper  one  and  looked  at 
me  with  her  green  teeth,  covering  her  eyes  with  a  hand 

in  a  black  thread  mitten. 

306 


MY  CHILDHOOD  307 

"Who  is  that*?"  I  asked,  suddenly  growing  timid. 

Grandfather  answered  in  a  disagreeable  voice: 

"That 's  another  grandmother  for  you." 

Mother,  laughing,  brought  Eugen  Maximov  to  me. 

"And  here  is  your  father !" 

She  said  something  rapidly  which  I  did  not  under- 
stand, and  Maximov,  with  twinkling  eyes,  bent  towards 
me  and  said: 

"I  will  make  you  a  present  of  some  paints." 

The  room  was  lit  up  very  brightly;  silver  candelabra, 
holding  five  candles  each,  stood  on  the  table,  and  be- 
tween them  was  placed  grandfather's  favorite  icon — 
"Mourn  not  for  me,  Mother."  The  pearls  with  which 
it  was  set  gave  forth  an  intermittent  brilliancy  as  the 
lights  played  on  them  flickeringly,  and  the  gems  in  the 
golden  crown  shone  radiantly;  heavy,  round  faces  like 
pancakes  were  pressing  against  the  window-panes  from 
outside,  flattening  their  noses  against  the  glass,  and 
everything  round  me  seemed  to  be  floating.  The  old 
green  woman  felt  my  ears  with  her  cold  fingers  and 
said: 

"By  all  means!     By  all  means!" 

"He  is  fainting,"  said  grandmother,  and  she  carried 
me  to  the  door. 

But  I  was  not  fainting.  I  just  kept  my  eyes  shut, 
and  as  soon  as  she  had  half-dragged,  half-carried  me  up 
the  staircase,  I  asked: 


3o8  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Why  was  n't  I  told  of  this'?" 

"That  will  do.  ...  Hold  your  tongue !" 

"You  are  deceivers — all  of  you!" 

Laying  me  on  the  bed,  she  threw  herself  down  with 
her  head  on  the  pillow  and  burst  into  tears,  shaking 
from  head  to  foot;  her  shoulders  heaved,  and  she  mut- 
tered chokingly: 

"Why  don't  you  cry?" 

I  had  no  desire  to  cry.  It  was  twilight  in  the  attic, 
and  cold.  I  shuddered,  and  the  bed  shook  and 
creaked;  and  ever  before  my  eyes  stood  the  old  green 
woman.  I  pretended  to  be  asleep,  and  grandmother 
went  away. 

Several  uneventful  days,  all  alike,  flowed  by  like  a 
thin  stream.  Mother  had  gone  away  somewhere  after 
the  betrothal,  and  the  house  was  oppressively  quiet. 

One  morning  grandfather  came  in  with  a  chisel  and 
began  to  break  away  the  cement  around  the  attic  win- 
dow-frames which  were  put  in  for  the  winter;  then 
grandmother  appeared  with  a  basin  of  water  and  a 
cloth,  and  grandfather  asked  softly: 

"Well,  old  woman,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  are  you  pleased,  or  what?" 

She  answered  him  as  she  had  answered  me  on  the 
staircase : 

"That  will  do.  ...  Hold  your  tongue !" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  309 

The  simplest  words  had  a  peculiar  significance  for 
me  now,  and  I  imagined  that  they  concealed  some- 
thing of  tremendous  import  and  sorrow  of  which  no 
one  might  speak,  but  of  which  every  one  knew. 

Carefully  taking  out  the  window-frame,  grand- 
father carried  it  away,  and  grandmother  went  to  the 
window  and  breathed  the  air.  In  the  garden  the 
starling  was  calling;  the  sparrows  chirped;  the  in- 
toxicating odor  of  the  thawing  earth  floated  into  the 
room.  The  dark  blue  tiles  of  the  stove  seemed  to  turn 
pale  with  confusion ;  it  made  one  cold  to  look  at  them. 
I  climbed  down  from  the  bed  to  the  floor. 

"Don't  go  running  about  with  your  feet  bare,"  said 
grandmother. 

"I  am  going  into  the  garden." 

"It  is  not  dry  enough  there  yet.     Wait  a  bit!" 

But  I  would  not  listen  to  her;  in  fact  the  very  sight 
of  grown-up  people  affected  me  unpleasantly  now. 
In  the  garden  the  light  green  spikes  of  young  grass  were 
already  pushing  their  way  through,  the  buds  on  the 
apple  trees  were  swelling  and  ready  to  break,  the  moss 
on  the  roof  of  Petrovna's  cottage  was  very  pleasing  to 
the  eye  in  its  renewed  green;  all  around  were  birds, 
and  sounds  of  joy,  and  the  fresh,  fragrant  air  caused  a 
pleasant  sensation  of  giddiness.  By  the  pit,  where 
Uncle  Peter  cut  his  throat,  there  was  long  grass — 
red,  and  mixed  up  with  the  broken  snow.  I  did  not 


310  MY  CHILDHOOD 

like  looking  at  it;  there  was  nothing  spring-like  about 
it.  The  black  chimney-stack  reared  itself  up  deject- 
edly, and  the  whole  pit  was  an  unnecessary  eyesore. 
I  was  seized  with  an  angry  desire  to  tear  up  and  break 
off  the  long  grass,  to  pull  the  chimney-stack  to  pieces 
brick  by  brick,  and  get  rid  of  all  that  useless  muck, 
and  to  build  a  clean  dwelling  for  myself  in  the  pit, 
where  I  could  live  all  the  summer  without  grown-up 
people. 

I  had  no  sooner  thought  of  it  than  I  set  myself  to 
do  it,  and  it  immediately  diverted  my  mind  from  what 
went  on  in  the  house,  and  kept  it  occupied  for  a  long 
time;  and  although  many  things  occurred  to  upset  me, 
they  became  of  less  importance  to  me  every  day. 

"What  are  you  sulking  about*?"  mother  and  grand- 
mother used  to  ask  me;  and  it  made  me  feel  awkward 
when  they  asked  this  question,  for  I  was  not  angry 
with  them — it  was  simply  that  every  one  in  the  house 
had  become  a  stranger  to  me.  At  dinner,  at  evening 
tea,  and  supper  the  old,  green  woman  often  appeared 
— looking  just  like  a  rotten  paling  in  an  old  fence. 
The  eyes  seemed  to  be  sewn  on  her  face  with  invisible 
threads,  and  looked  as  if  they  would  easily  roll  out  of 
their  bony  sockets,  as  she  turned  them  rapidly  in  every 
direction,  seeing  and  taking  notes  of  everything — rais- 
ing them  to  the  ceiling  when  she  talked  of  God,  and 
looking  down  her  nose  when  she  spoke  of  household 


MY  CHILDHOOD  311 

matters.  Her  eyebrows  looked  exactly  as  if  they  had 
been  cut  out  of  pieces  and  stuck  on.  Her  large,  protrud- 
ing teeth  noiselessly  chewed  whatever  she  put  in  her 
mouth  with  a  funny  curve  of  her  arm,  and  her  little 
finger  stuck  out;  while  the  bones  about  her  ears  moved 
like  little  round  balls,  and  the  green  hairs  on  her  warts 
went  up  and  down  as  if  they  were  creeping  along  her 
yellow,  wrinkled,  disgustingly  clean  skin. 

She  was  always  so  very  clean — like  her  son,  and  it 
was  unpleasant  to  go  near  them.  The  first  day  she 
put  her  dead  hand  against  my  lips,  it  smelled  strongly 
of  yellow  Kazan  soap  and  incense,  and  I  turned  away 
and  ran  off.  She  said  to  her  son  very  often : 

"That  boy  is  greatly  in  need  of  discipline;  do  you 
understand  that,  Jenia*?" 

Inclining  his  head  obediently,  he  would  frown  and 
remain  silent.  Every  one  frowned  in  the  presence  of 
the  green  woman. 

I  hated  the  old  woman,  and  her  son  too,  with  an  in- 
tense hatred,  and  many  blows  did  that  feeling  cost  me. 
One  day  at  dinner  she  said,  rolling  her  eyes  horribly: 

"Oh — Aleshenka,  why  do  you  eat  in  such  a  hurry, 
and  take  such  big  pieces'?  Give  it  up,  my  dear!" 

I  took  the  piece  out  of  my  mouth,  put  it  on  the  fork 
again,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"Take  it — only  it  is  hot." 

Mother  took  me  away  from  the  table,  and  I  was 


312  MY  CHILDHOOD 

ignominiously  banished  to  the  attic,  where  grandmother 
joined  me,  trying  to  keep  her  giggling  from  being  heard 
by  placing  her  hand  over  her  mouth. 

"Lor !  you  are  a  cheeky  young  monkey.     Bless  you !" 

It  irritated  me  to  see  her  with  her  hand  over  her 
mouth,  so  I  ran  away,  climbed  on  the  roof  of  the  house, 
and  sat  there  a  long  time  by  the  chimney.  Yes,  I 
wanted  to  be  insolent  and  to  use  injurious  words  to 
them  all,  and  it  was  hard  to  fight  against  this  feeling, 
but  it  had  to  be  fought  against. 

One  day  I  covered  the  chair  of  my  future  stepfather 
with  grease,  and  that  of  my  new  grandmother  with 
cherry-gum,  and  they  both  stuck  to  their  seats;  it  was 
very  funny,  but  when  grandfather  had  hit  me,  mother 
came  up  to  me  in  the  attic,  and  drawing  me  to  her, 
pressed  me  against  her  knees  saying: 

"Listen  now !  Why  are  you  so  ill-natured?  If  you 
only  knew  how  miserable  it  makes  me."  And  her  eyes 
overflowed  with  bright  tears  as  she  pressed  my  head 
against  her  cheek. 

This  was  very  painful;  I  had  rather  she  had  struck 
me.  I  told  her  I  would  never  again  be  rude  to  the 
Maximovs — never  again,  if  only  she  would  not  cry. 

"There,  there!"  she  said  softly.  "Only  you  must 
not  be  impudent.  Very  soon  we  shall  be  married,  and 
then  we  shall  go  to  Moscow ;  afterwards  we  shall  come 
back  and  you  will  live  with  us.  Eugen  Vassilivitch  is 


MY  CHILDHOOD  313 

very  kind  and  clever,  and  you  will  get  on  well  with 
him.  You  will  go  to  a  grammar  school,  and  after- 
wards you  shall  be  a  student — like  he  is  now ;  then  you 
shall  be  a  doctor — whatever  you  like.  You  may  study 
whatever  you  choose.  Now  run  and  play." 

These  "afterwards"  and  "thens"  one  after  the  other 
seemed  to  me  like  a  staircase  leading  to  some  place  deep 
down  and  far  away  from  her,  into  darkness  and  solitude 
— a  staircase  which  led  to  no  happiness  for  me.  I  had 
a  good  mind  to  say  to  my  mother: 

"Please  don't  get  married.  I  will  earn  money  for 
your  keep." 

But  somehow  the  words  would  not  come.  Mother 
always  aroused  in  me  many  tender  thoughts  about  her- 
self, but  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  them 
to  her. 

My  undertaking  in  the  garden  was  progressing;  I 
pulled  up  the  long  grass,  or  cut  it  down  with  a  knife, 
and  I  built,  with  pieces  of  brick,  against  the  edge  of 
the  pit  where  the  earth  had  fallen  away,  a  broad  seat, 
large  enough,  in  fact,  to  lie  down  upon.  I  took  a  lot 
of  pieces  of  colored  glass  and  fragments  of  broken 
crockery  and  stuck  them  in  the  chinks  between  the 
bricks,  and  when  the  sun  looked  into  the  pit  they  all 
shone  with  a  rainbow  effect,  like  one  sees  in  churches. 

"Very  well  thought  out!"  said  grandfather  one  day, 
looking  at  my  work.  "Only  you  have  broken  off  the 


3 14  MY  CHILDHOOD 

grass  and  left  the  roots.  Give  me  your  spade  and  I  will 
dig  them  up  for  you;  come,  bring  it  to  me!" 

I  brought  him  the  yellow  spade ;  he  spat  on  his  hands, 
and  making  a  noise  like  a  duck,  drove  the  spade  into 
the  earth  with  his  foot. 

"Throw  away  the  roots,"  he  said.  "Later  on  I  will 
plant  some  sunflowers  here  for  you,  and  some  rasp- 
berry bushes.  That  will  be  nice — very  nice!"  And 
then,  bending  over  his  spade,  he  fell  into  a  dead  si- 
lence. 

I  looked  at  him ;  fine  tear-drops  were  falling  fast  from 
his  small,  intelligent,  doglike  eyes  to  the  ground. 

"What  is  the  matter^" 

He  shook  himself,  wiped  his  face  with  his  palms,  and 
dimly  regarded  me. 

"I    was    sweating.     Look    there — what    a    lot    of 


worms !" 


Then  he  began  to  dig  again,  and  after  a  time  he  said 
abruptly : 

"You  have  done  all  this  for  nothing — for  nothing, 
my  boy.  I  am  going  to  sell  the  house  soon.  I  must 
sell  it  before  autumn  without  fail.  I  want  the  money 
for  your  mother's  dowry.  That 's  what  it  is !  I  hope 
she  will  be  happy.  God  bless  her!" 

He  threw  down  the  spade,  and  with  a  gesture  of  re- 
nunciation went  behind  the  washhouse  where  he  had 


MY  CHILDHOOD  315 

a  forcing-bed,  and  I  began  to  dig;  but  almost  at  once 
I  crushed  my  toes  with  the  spade. 

This  prevented  me  from  going  to  the  church  with 
mother  when  she  was  married;  I  could  only  get  as  far 
as  the  gate,  and  from  there  I  saw  her  on  Maximov's 
arm,  with  her  head  bowed,  carefully  setting  her  feet 
on  the  pavement  and  on  the  green  grass,  and  stepping 
over  the  crevices  as  if  she  were  walking  on  sharp  nails. 

It  was  a  quiet  wedding.  When  they  came  back  from 
church  they  drank  tea  in  a  depressed  manner,  and 
mother  changed  her  dress  directly  and  went  to  her  own 
room  to  pack  up.  My  stepfather  came  and  sat  beside 
me,  and  said: 

"I  promised  to  give  you  some  paints,  but  there  are 
no  good  ones  to  be  got  in  this  town,  and  I  cannot  give 
my  own  away;  but  I  will  bring  you  some  from  Mos- 
cow." 

"And  what  shall  I  do  with  them?" 

"Don't  you  like  drawing?" 

"I  don't  know  how  to  draw." 

"Well,  I  will  bring  you  something  else." 

Then  mother  came  in. 

"We  shall  soon  come  back,  you  know.  Your  father, 
there,  has  to  sit  for  an  examination,  and  when  he  has 
finished  his  studies  we  shall  come  back." 

I  was  pleased  that  they  should  talk  to  me  like  this, 


316  MY  CHILDHOOD 

as  if  I  were  grown-up;  but  it  was  very  strange  to  hear 
that  a  man  with  a  beard  was  still  learning, 

"What  are  you  learning*?"  I  asked. 

"Surveying,"  he  replied. 

I  did  not  trouble  to  ask  what  surveying  was.  The 
house  seemed  to  be  full  of  a  dull  quietness;  there  was 
a  woolly  sort  of  rustling  going  on,  and  I  wished  that  the 
night  would  make  haste  and  come.  Grandfather  stood 
with  his  back  pressed  against  the  stove,  gazing  out  of 
the  window  with  a  frown.  The  old  green  woman  was 
helping  mother  to  pack,  grumbling  and  sighing;  and 
grandmother,  who  had  been  tipsy  since  noon,  ashamed 
on  that  account,  had  retired  to  the  attic  and  shut  her- 
self up  there. 

Mother  went  away  early  the  next  morning.  She 
held  me  in  her  arms  as  she  took  leave  of  me;  lifting 
me  lightly  off  the  ground,  and  gazing  into  my  eyes  with 
eyes  which  seemed  unfamiliar  to  me,  she  said  as  she 
kissed  me : 

"Well— good-by." 

"Tell  him  that  he  has  got  to  obey  me,"  said  grand- 
father gruffly,  looking  up  at  the  sky  which  was  still 
rosy. 

"Do  what  grandfather  tells  you,"  said  mother,  mak- 
ing the  sign  of  the  Cross  over  me. 

I  expected  her  to  say  something  else,  and  I  was  furi- 
ous with  grandfather  because  he  had  prevented  her. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  317 

They  seated  themselves  in  the  droshky,  and  mother 
was  a  long  time  angrily  trying  to  free  her  skirt  which 
had  got  caught  in  something. 

"Help  her,  can't  you"?  Are  you  blind?"  said  grand- 
father to  me. 

But  I  could  not  help — I  was  too  wrapped  up  in  my 
grief. 

Maximov  patiently  squeezed  his  long  legs,  clothed 
in  dark  blue  trousers,  into  the  droshky,  while  grand- 
mother put  some  bundles  into  his  hand.  He  piled  them 
up  on  his  knees,and  keeping  them  in  place  with  his  chin, 
his  white  face  wrinkled  with  embarrassment,  he 
drawled :  "That 's  eno — ugh !" 

In  another  droshky  sat  the  old  green  woman  with 
her  eldest  son,  the  officer,  who  was  scratching  his  beard 
with  his  sword  handle,  and  yawning. 

"So  you  are  going  to  the  war*?"  said  grandfather. 

"I  am  compelled  to  go." 

"A  good  thing  too !  ...  we  must  beat  the  Turks." 

They  drove  off.  Mother  turned  round  several  times 
and  waved  her  handkerchief.  Grandmother,  dissolved 
in  tears,  supporting  herself  by  resting  her  hand  against 
the  wall,  also  waved  her  hand.  Grandfather  wiped 
away  the  tears  from  his  eyes  and  muttered  brokenly: 
"No  good — will  come — of  this." 

I  sat  on  the  gate-post  and  watched  the  droshky  jolt- 
ing up  and  down — and  then  they  turned  the  corner  and 


3i8  MY  CHILDHOOD 

it  seemed  as  if  a  door  in  my  heart  had  been  suddenly 
shut  and  barred.  It  was  very  early,  the  shutters  had 
not  been  taken  from  the  windows  of  the  houses,  the 
street  was  empty ;  I  had  never  seen  such  an  utter  absence 
of  life.  In  the  distance  the  shepherd  could  be  heard 
playing  irritatingly. 

"Come  in  to  breakfast,"  said  grandfather,  taking  me 
by  the  shoulder.  "It  is  evident  that  your  lot  is  to  live 
with  me;  so  you  are  beginning  to  leave  your  mark  on 
me  like  the  striking  of  a  match  leaves  on  a  brick." 

From  morning  till  night  we  busied  ourselves  in  the 
garden ;  he  laid  out  beds,  tied  up  the  raspberry  bushes, 
stripped  the  lichen  off  the  apple  trees,  and  killed  the 
caterpillars,  while  I  went  on  building  and  decorating 
my  dwelling.  Grandfather  cut  off  the  end  of  the  burnt 
beam,  made  sticks  out  of  it,  and  stuck  them  in  the  earth, 
and  I  hung  my  bird-cages  on  them;  then  I  wove  a  close 
netting  with  the  dried  grass,  and  made  a  canopy  over 
the  seat  to  keep  off  the  sun  and  the  dew.  The  result 
was  very  satisfactory. 

"It  is  very  useful,"  said  grandfather,  "for  you  to 
learn  how  to  make  the  best  of  things  for  yourself." 

I  attached  great  importance  to  his  words.  Some- 
times he  lay  down  on  the  seat,  which  I  had  covered 
with  turf,  and  taught  me,  very  slowly,  as  if  he  had  a 
difficulty  in  finding  words. 

"Now  you  are  cut  right  off  from  your  mother; 


MY!  CHILDHOOD  319 

other  children  will  come  to  her,  and  they  will  be  more 
to  her  than  you  are.  And  grandmother  there — she  has 
taken  to  drink." 

He  was  silent  for  a  long  time  as  if  he  were  listen- 
ing to  something;  then  again  he  unwillingly  let  fall 
gloomy  words: 

"This  is  the  second  time  she  has  taken  to  drink; 
when  Michael  went  for  a  soldier  she  started  to  drink 
too.  And  the  old  fool  persuaded  me  to  buy  his  dis- 
charge. .  .  .  He  might  have  turned  out  quite  differ- 
ently if  he  had  gone  for  a  soldier.  .  .  .  Ugh!  .  .  . 
You  .  .  .  !  I  shall  be  dead  soon — that  means  that 
you  will  be  left  alone  ...  all  on  your  own  ...  to 
earn  your  living.  Do  you  understand"?  .  .  .  Good! 
.  .  .  You  must  learn  to  work  for  yourself  .  .  .  and 
don't  give  way  to  others!  Live  quietly,  peaceably — 
and  uprightly.  Listen  to  what  others  say,  but  do  what 
is  best  for  yourself." 

All  the  summer,  except,  of  course,  when  the  weather 
was  bad,  I  lived  in  the  garden,  and  on  warm  nights  I 
even  slept  out  there  on  a  piece  of  felt  which  grand- 
mother had  made  me  a  present  of;  not  infrequently 
she  slept  in  the  garden  herself,  and  bringing  out  a 
bundle  of  hay,  which  she  spread  out  close  to  my  couch, 
she  would  lie  down  on  it  and  tell  me  stories  for  a  long 
time,  interrupting  her  speech  from  time  to  time  by  ir- 
relevant remarks: 


320  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Look!  ...  A  star  fell  then!  That  is  some  pure 
soul  suffering  ...  a  mother  thinking  of  earth !  That 
means  that  a  good  man  or  woman  has  just  been  bom." 

Or  she  would  point  out  to  me : 

"There's  a  new  star  appeared;  look!  It  looks  like 
a  large  eye.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  bright  creature  of  the  sky! 
.  .  .  You  holy  ornament  of  God !  .  .  ." 

"You  will  catch  cold,  you  silly  woman!"  grand- 
father would  growl,  "and  have  an  apoplectic  fit. 
Thieves  will  come  and  kill  you." 

Sometimes,  when  the  sun  set,  rivers  of  light  streamed 
across  the  sky,  looking  as  if  they  were  on  fire,  and 
red-gold  ashes  seemed  to  fall  on  the  velvety-green  gar- 
den; then  everything  became  perceptibly  a  shade 
darker,  and  seemed  to  grow  larger — to  swell,  as  the 
warm  twilight  closed  round.  Tired  of  the  sun,  the 
leaves  drooped,  the  grass  bowed  its  head;  everything 
seemed  to  be  softer  and  richer,  and  gently  breathed  out 
various  odors  as  soothing  as  music.  And  music  there 
was,  too,  floating  from  the  camps  in  the  fields,  where 
they  were  playing  spasmodically. 

Night  came,  and  with  it  there  came  into  one's  heart 
something  vigorous  and  fresh,  like  the  loving  caress  of 
a  mother;  the  quietness  softly  smoothed  one's  heart 
with  its  warm,  rough  hands,  and  all  that  ought  to  be 
forgotten — all  the  bitterness,  the  fine  dust  of  the  day — 
was  washed  away.  It  was  enchanting  to  lie  with  up- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  321 

turned  face  watching  the  stars  flaming  in  the  infinite 
profundity  of  the  sky — a  profundity  which,  as  it 
stretches  higher  and  higher,  opens  out  a  new  vista  of 
stars;  to  raise  yourself  lightly  from  the  ground  and — 
how  strange! — either  the  earth  has  grown  smaller  be- 
fore your  eyes,  or  you  yourself,  grown  wonderfully  big, 
are  being  absorbed  into  your  surroundings.  It  grows 
darker  and  quieter  every  moment,  but  there  is  a  suc- 
cession of  minute,  hardly  perceptible,  prolonged  sounds, 
and  each  sound — whether  it  be  a  bird  singing  in  its 
sleep,  or  a  hedgehog  running  along,  or  a  human  voice 
softly  raised  somewhere — differs  from  the  sounds  of 
daytime,  and  has  something  peculiarly  its  own,  amo- 
rously underlying  its  sensitive  quietness. 

A  harmonium  is  being  played  somewhere,  a  woman's 
laugh  rings  out,  a  sword  rattles  on  the  stone  flags  of 
the  pavement,  a  dog  yelps — but  all  these  sounds  are 
nothing  more  than  the  falling  of  the  last  leaves  of  the 
day  which  has  blossomed  and  died. 

Sometimes  in  the  night  a  drunken  cry  would  sud- 
denly rise  from  the  field  or  the  street,  and  the  sound  of 
some  one  running  noisily ;  but  this  was  a  common  occur- 
rence, and  passed  unheeded. 

Grandmother  never  slept  long,  and  as  she  lay  with 
her  head  resting  on  her  folded  arms,  she  would  begin, 
at  the  slightest  hint,  to  tell  me  a  story,  obviously  not 
caring  whether  I  was  listening  to  her  or  not.  She  was 


322  MY  CHILDHOOD 

always  able  to  choose  stories  which  would  make  the 
night  still  more  precious  and  beautiful  to  me. 

Under  the  influence  of  her  measured  flow  of  words 
I  insensibly  sank  into  slumber,  and  awoke  with  the 
birds;  the  sun  was  looking  straight  into  my  eyes,  and, 
warmed  by  his  rays,  the  morning  air  flowed  softly 
round  us,  the  leaves  of  the  apple  tree  were  shaking  off 
the  dew,  the  moist  green  grass  looked  brighter  and 
fresher  than  ever,  with  its  newly  acquired  crystal  trans- 
parency, and  a  faint  mist  floated  over  it.  High  up  in 
the  sky,  so  high  as  to  be  invisible,  a  lark  sang,  and  all 
the  colors  and  sounds  produced  by  the  dew  evoked  a 
peaceful  gladness,  and  aroused  a  desire  to  get  up  at  once 
and  do  some  work,  and  to  live  in  amity  with  all  living 
creatures. 

This  was  the  quietest  and  most  contemplative  period 
of  my  whole  life,  and  it  was  during  this  summer  that 
the  consciousness  of  my  own  strength  took  root  and 
developed  in  me.  I  became  shy  and  unsociable,  and 
when  I  heard  the  shouts  of  the  Ovsyanikov  children  I 
had  no  desire  to  go  to  them;  and  when  my  cousins 
came,  I  was  more  than  a  little  annoyed,  and  the  only 
feeling  they  aroused  in  me  was  the  fear  lest  they  should 
destroy  my  structure  in  the  garden — the  first  work  I 
had  ever  done  by  myself. 

Grandfather's  conversation,  drier,  more  querulous, 
and  more  doleful  every  day,  had  lost  all  interest  for 


MY  CHILDHOOD  323 

me.  He  had  taken  to  quarreling  with  grandmother 
frequently,  and  to  turn  her  out  of  the  house,  when 
she  would  go  either  to  Uncle  Jaakov's  or  to  Uncle 
Michael's.  Once  she  stayed  away  for  several  days 
and  grandfather  did  all  the  cooking  himself,  burned 
his  hands,  roared  with  pain,  swore,  and  smashed  the 
crockery,  and  developed  a  noticeable  greediness. 
Sometimes  he  would  come  to  my  hut,  make  himself 
comfortable  on  the  turfy  seat,  and  after  watching  me  in 
silence  for  some  time,  would  ask  abruptly: 

"Why  are  you  so  quiet?" 

"Because  I  feel  like  it.     Why?' 

Then  he  would  begin  his  sermon : 

"We  are  not  gentlefolk.  No  one  takes  the  trouble 
to  teach  us.  We  have  got  to  find  everything  out  for 
ourselves.  For  other  folk  they  write  books,  and  build 
schools;  but  no  time  is  wasted  on  us.  We  have  to 
make  our  own  way." 

And  he  fell  into  a  brooding  silence — sitting  motion- 
less, oblivious,  till  his  presence  became  almost  oppres- 
sive. 

He  sold  the  house  in  the  autumn,  and  not  long 
before  the  sale  he  exclaimed  abruptly  one  morning,  over 
his  tea: 

"Well,  Mother,  I  have  fed  and  clothed  you — fed 
and  clothed  you — but  the  time  has  come  for  you  to  earn 
your  own  bread." 


324  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Grandmother  received  this  announcement  quite 
calmly,  as  if  she  had  been  expecting  it  a  long  time. 
She  reached  for  her  snuff-box  in  a  leisurely  manner, 
charged  her  spongy  nose,  and  said : 

"Well,  that's  all  right!  If  it  is  to  be  like  that,  so 
let  it  be." 

Grandfather  took  two  dark  rooms  in  the  basement 
of  an  old  house,  at  the  foot  of  a  small  hill. 

When  we  went  to  this  lodging,  grandmother  took 
an  old  bast  shoe,  put  it  under  the  stove,  and,  squat- 
ting on  her  heels,  invoked  the  house-demon : 

"House-demon,  family-demon,  here  is  your  sledge; 
come  to  us  in  our  new  home,  and  bring  us  good  luck." 

Grandfather  looked  in  at  the  window  from  the  yard, 
crying:  "I  will  make  you  smart  for  this,  you  heretic! 
You  are  trying  to  put  me  to  shame." 

"Oie!  Take  care  that  you  don't  bring  harm  to 
yourself,  Father,"  said  grandmother  seriously;  but  he 
only  raged  at  her,  and  forbade  her  to  invoke  the  house- 
demon. 

The  furniture  and  effects  were  sold  by  him  to  a 
second-hand  dealer  who  was  a  Tartar,  after  three  days' 
bargaining  and  abuse  of  each  other;  and  grandmother 
looked  out  of  the  window,  sometimes  crying  and  some- 
times laughing,  and  exclaiming  under  her  breath: 

"That 's  right !     Drag  them  about.     Smash  them." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  325 

I  was  ready  to  weep  myself  as  I  mourned  for  my 
garden  and  my  little  hut. 

We  journeyed  thither  in  two  carts,  and  the  one 
wherein  I  was  placed,  amongst  various  utensils,  jolted 
alarmingly,  as  if  it  were  going  to  throw  me  out  then 
and  there,  with  a  part  of  the  load.  And  for  two  years, 
till  close  upon  the  time  of  my  mother's  death,  I  was 
dominated  with  the  idea  that  I  had  been  thrown  out 
somewhere.  Soon  after  the  move  mother  made  her 
appearance,  just  as  grandfather  had  settled  down  in  his 
basement,  very  pale  and  thin,  and  with  her  great  eyes 
strangely  brilliant.  She  stared  just  as  if  she  were  see- 
ing her  father  and  mother  and  me  for  the  first  time- 
just  stared,  and  said  nothing;  while  my  stepfather 
moved  about  the  room,  whistling  softly,  and  clearing 
his  throat,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back  and  his  fin- 
gers twitching. 

"Lord!  how  dreadfully  you  have  grown,"  said 
mother  to  me,  pressing  her  hot  hands  to  my  cheeks. 
She  was  dressed  unattractively  in  a  full  brown  dress, 
and  she  looked  very  swollen  about  the  stomach. 

My  stepfather  held  out  his  hand  to  me. 

"How  do  you  do,  my  lad1?  How  are  you  getting 
on*?"  Then  sniffing  the  air,  he  added:  "Do  you 
know  it  is  very  damp  down  here*?" 

They  both  looked  worn  out,  as  if  they  had  been 


326  MY  CHILDHOOD 

running  for  a  long  time;  their  clothes  were  in  dis- 
order, and  soiled,  and  all  they  wanted,  they  said,  was 
to  lie  down  and  rest.  As  they  drank  some  tea  with 
an  air  of  constraint,  grandfather,  gazing  at  the  rain- 
washed  windows,  asked: 

"And  so  you  have  lost  everything  in  a  fire?" 

"Everything !"  answered  my  stepfather  in  a  resolute 
tone.  "We  only  escaped  ourselves  by  good  luck." 

"So!  ...  A  fire  is  no  joke." 

Leaning  against  grandmother's  shoulder,  my  mother 
whispered  something  in  her  ear,  and  grandmother 
blinked  as  if  the  light  were  in  her  eyes.  The  air  of 
constraint  grew  more  noticeable. 

Suddenly  grandfather  said  very  clearly,  in  a  cool, 
malicious  tone: 

"The  rumor  which  came  to  my  ears,  Eugen  Vassilev, 
my  good  sir,  said  that  there  was  no  fire,  but  that  you 
simply  lost  everything  at  cards." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  broken  only  by  the  hiss- 
ing of  the  samovar  and  the  splashing  of  the  rain  against 
the  window-panes;  at  length  mother  said  in  a  persua- 
sive tone: 

"Papasha— " 

"What  do  you  mean — *papas1uf?n  cried  grand- 
father in  a  deafening  voice.  "What  next^  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  that  a  person  of  thirty  does  not  go  well  with 
one  of  twenty  years'?  .  .  .  There  you  are  .  .  .  and 


MY  CHILDHOOD  327 

there  he  is — cunning  rogue!  A  nobleman!  .  .  . 
What*?  .  .  .  Well,  little  daughter?' 

They  all  four  shouted  at  the  tops  of  their  voices, 
and  my  stepfather  shouted  loudest  of  all.  I  went  out 
to  the  porch  and  sat  on  a  heap  of  wood,  stupefied  by 
my  amazement  at  finding  mother  so  changed,  so  dif- 
ferent from  what  she  used  to  be.  This  fact  had  not 
struck  me  so  forcibly  when  I  was  in  the  room  with  her, 
as  it  did  now  in  the  twilight  with  the  memory  of  what 
she  had  been  clearly  before  my  mind. 

Later  on,  though  I  have  forgotten  the  circumstances 
connected  with  it,  I  found  myself  at  Sormova,  in  a 
house  where  everything  was  new;  the  walls  were  bare 
and  hemp  grew  out  of  the  chinks  between  the  beams, 
and  in  the  hemp  were  a  lot  of  cockroaches.  Mother 
and  my  stepfather  lived  in  two  rooms  with  windows 
looking  on  to  the  street,  and  I  lived  with  grandmother 
in  the  kitchen,  which  had  one  window  looking  out  on 
the  roof.  On  the  other  side  of  the  roof  the  chimneys 
of  a  factory  rose  up  to  the  sky,  belching  forth  a  thick 
smoke,  and  the  winter  wind  blew  this  smoke  over  the 
entire  village;  and  our  cold  rooms  were  always  filled 
with  the  odor  of  something  burning.  Early  in  the 
morning  the  wolves  howled:  "Khvou — ou — ou — 


u— !" 


By  standing  on  a  stool  one  could  see  through  the 
top  window-pane,  across  the  roof,  the  gate  of  the  fac- 


328  MY  CHILDHOOD 

tory  lit  up  by  lanterns,  half-open  like  the  black,  tooth- 
less mouth  of  an  old  beggar,  and  a  crowd  of  little  peo- 
ple crawling  into  it.  At  noon  the  black  lips  of  the 
gate  again  opened  and  the  factory  disgorged  its 
chewed-up  people,  who  flowed  along  the  street  in  a 
black  stream  till  a  rough,  snowy  wind  came  flying  along 
and  drove  them  into  their  houses.  We  very  seldom 
saw  the  sky  over  the  village;  from  day  to  day,  over 
the  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  over  the  snow-drifts 
sprinkled  with  soot,  hung  another  roof,  gray  and  flat, 
which  crushed  the  imagination,  and  blinded  one  with 
its  overwhelming  drabness. 

In  the  evenings  a  dim  red  glow  quivered  over  the 
factory,  lighting  up  the  chimney-pots,  and  making  the 
chimneys  look,  not  as  if  they  rose  from  the  earth  to  the 
sky,  but  as  if  they  were  falling  to  the  earth  from  that 
smoky  cloud ;  and  as  they  fell  they  seemed  to  be  breath- 
ing out^fl^mes,  and  howling. 

It  was  unbearably  tedious  to  look  at  all  this,  and 
the  monotony  of  it  preyed  evilly  on  my  heart. 
Grandmother  did  the  work  of  a  general  servant,  cooked, 
washed  the  floors,  chopped  wood,  and  fetched  water 
from  morning  till  night,  and  came  to  bed  weary, 
grumbling,  and  sighing.  Sometimes  when  she  had 
finished  cooking  she  would  put  on  her  short,  padded 
bodice,  and  with  her  skirt  well  lifted,  she  would  repair 
to  the  town. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  329 

"I  will  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  old  man,  and  see 
how  he  is  getting  on." 

"Take  me  with  you."  /" 

"You  would  be  frozen.  Look  how  it  is  snowing!" 
And  she  would  walk  seven  versts,  by  the  roads,  or 
across  the  snowy  fields. 

Mother,  yellow,  pregnant,  and  shivering  with  cold, 
went  about  wrapped  in  a  gray,  torn  shawl  with  a  fringe. 

I  hated  that  shawl,  which  disfigured  the  large,  well- 
built  body;  I  hated  the  tails  of  the  fringe,  and  tore 
them  off;  I  hated  the  house,  the  factory,  and  the  vil- 
lage. Mother  went  about  in  downtrodden  felt  boots, 
coughing  all  the  time,  and  her  unbecomingly  fat  stom- 
ach heaved,  her  gray-blue  eyes  had  a  bright,  hard  gleam 
in  them,  and  she  often  stood  about  against  the  bare 
walls  just  as  if  she  were  glued  to  them.  Sometimes 
she  would  stand  for  a  whole  hour  looking  out  of  the 
window  on  to  the  street,  which  was  like  a  jaw  in  which 
half  the  teeth  were  blackened  and  crooked  from  age, 
and  the  other  half  had  quite  decayed  and  had  been  re- 
placed by  false  ones. 

"Why  do  we  live  here*?"  I  asked. 

"Ach!  .  .  .  You  hold  your  tongue,  can't  you*?"  she 
answered. 

She  spoke  very  seldom  to  me,  and  when  she  did 
speak  it  was  only  to  order  me  about : 

"Go  there!  .      .  Come  here!  .      .  Fetch  this!" 


330  MY  CHILDHOOD 

I  was  not  often  allowed  out  in  the  street,  and  on 
each  occasion  I  returned  home  bearing  signs  of  having 
been  knocked  about  by  other  boys ;  for  fighting  was  my 
favorite,  indeed,  my  only  enjoyment,  and  I  threw  my- 
self into  it  with  ardor.  Mother  whipped  me  with  a 
strap,  but  the  punishment  only  irritated  me  further,  and 
the  next  time  I  fought  with  childish  fury — and  mother 
gave  me  a  worse  punishment.  This  went  on  till  one 
day  I  warned  her  that  if  she  did  not  leave  off  beating 
me  I  should  bite  her  hand,  and  run  away  to  the  fields 
and  get  frozen  to  death.  She  pushed  me  away  from 
her  in  amazement,  and  walked  about  the  room,  panting 
from  exhaustion  as  she  said: 

"You  are  getting  like  a  wild  animal !" 

That  feeling  which  is  called  love  began  to  blossom 
in  my  heart  now,  full  of  life,  and  tremulous  as  a  rain- 
bow; and  my  resentment  against  every  one  burst  out 
oftener,  like  a  dark  blue,  smoky  flame,  and  an  oppres- 
sive feeling  of  irritation  smoldered  in  my  heart — a 
consciousness  of  being  entirely  alone  in  that  gray, 
meaningless  existence. 

My  stepfather  was  severe  with  me,  and  hardly  ever 
speaking  to  mother,  went  about  whistling  or  coughing, 
and  after  dinner  would  stand  in  front  of  a  mirror  and 
assiduously  pick  his  uneven  teeth  with  a  splinter  of 
wood.  His  quarrels  with  mother  became  more  fre- 
quent— angrily  addressing  her  as  "you"  (instead  of 


MY  CHILDHOOD  331 

"thou"),  a  habit  which  exasperated  me  beyond  meas- 
ure. When  there  was  a  quarrel  on  he  used  to  shut  the 
kitchen  door  closely,  evidently  not  wishing  me  to  hear 
what  he  said,  but  all  the  same  the  sound  of  his  deep 
bass  voice  could  be  heard  quite  plainly.  One  day  he 
cried,  with  a  stamp  of  his  foot: 

"Just  because  you  are  fool  enough  to  become  preg- 
nant, I  can't  ask  any  one  to  come  and  see  me — you 


cow!" 


I  was  so  astonished,  so  furiously  angry,  that  I  jumped 
up  in  the  air  so  high  that  I  knocked  my  head  against 
the  ceiling  and  bit  my  tongue  till  it  bled. 

On  Saturdays  workmen  came  in  batches  of  ten  to 
see  my  stepfather  and  sell  him  their  food-tickets,  which 
they  ought  to  have  taken  to  the  shop  belonging  to  the 
works  to  spend  in  place  of  money;  but  my  stepfather 
used  to  buy  them  at  half-price.  He  received  the  work- 
men in  the  kitchen,  sitting  at  the  table,  looking  very 
important,  and  as  he  took  the  cards  he  would  frown 
and  say: 

"A  rouble  and  a  half!" 

"Now,  Eugen  Vassilev,  for  the  love  of  God — " 

"A  rouble  and  a  half!" 

This  muddled,  gloomy  existence  only  lasted  till 
mother's  confinement,  when  I  was  sent  back  to  grand- 
father. He  was  then  living  at  Kunavin,  where  he 
rented  a  poky  room  with  a  Russian  stove,  and  two  win- 


332  MY  CHILDHOOD 

dows  looking  on  to  the  yard,  in  a  two-storied  house  on 
a  sandy  road,  which  extended  to  the  fence  of  the  Na- 
polno  churchyard. 

"What's  this?"  he  cried,  squeaking  with  laughter, 
as  he  met  me.  "They  say  there  's  no  better  friend 
than  your  own  mother;  but  now,  it  seems,  it  is  not 
the  mother  but  the  old  devil  of  a  grandfather  who  is 
the  friend.  Ugh — you!" 

Before  I  had  time  to  look  about  my  new  home 
grandmother  arrived  with  mother  and  the  baby.  My 
stepfather  had  been  dismissed  from  the  works  for  pil- 
fering from  the  workmen,  but  he  had  gone  after  other 
employment  and  had  been  taken  on  in  the  booking- 
office  of  the  railway  station  almost  at  once. 

After  a  long,  uneventful  period,  once  more  I  was 
living  with  mother  in  the  basement  of  a  storehouse. 
As  soon  as  she  was  settled  mother  sent  me  to  school — 
and  from  the  very  first  I  took  a  dislike  to  it. 

I  went  thither  in  mother's  shoes,  with  a  coat  made 
out  of  a  bodice  belonging  to  grandmother,  a  yellow 
shirt,  and  trousers  which  had  been  lengthened.  My 
attire  immediately  became  an  object  of  ridicule,  and 
for  the  yellow  shirt  I  received  "The  ace  of  diamonds." 

I  soon  became  friendly  with  the  boys,  but  the  mas- 
ter and  the  priest  did  not  like  me. 

The  master  was  a  jaundiced-looking,  bold  man  who 
suffered  from  a  continuous  bleeding  of  the  nose;  he 


"MOTHER  SENT  ME  TO  SCHOOL — AND  FROM  THE  FIRST  i  TOOK  A  DISLIKE 

TO  IT" 


MY  CHILDHOOD  333 

used  to  appear  in  the  schoolroom  with  his  nostrils 
stopped  up  with  cotton-wool,  and  as  he  sat  at  his  table, 
asking  us  questions  in  snuffling  tones,  he  would  sud- 
denly stop  in  the  middle  of  a  word,  take  the  wool  out 
of  his  nostrils  and  look  at  it,  shaking  his  head.  He  had 
a  flat,  copper-colored  face,  with  a  sour  expression,  and 
there  was  a  greenish  tint  in  his  wrinkles;  but  it  was 
his  literally  pewter-colored  eyes  which  were  the  most 
hideous  feature  of  it,  and  they  were  so  unpleasantly 
glued  to  my  face  that  I  used  to  feel  that  I  must  brush 
them  off  my  cheek  with  my  hands. 

For  several  days  I  was  in  the  first  division,  and  at 
the  top  of  the  class,  quite  close  to  the  master's  table, 
and  my  position  was  almost  unbearable.  He  seemed 
to  see  no  one  but  me,  and  he  was  snuffling  all  the  time : 

"Pyesh — kov,  you  must  put  on  a  clean  shirt. 
Pyesh — kov,  don't  make  a  noise  with  your  feet. 
Pyesh — kov,  your  bootlaces  are  undone  again." 

But  I  paid  him  out  for  his  savage  insolence.  One 
day  I  took  the  half  of  a  frozen  watermelon,  cut  out 
the  inside,  and  fastened  it  by  a  string  over  a  pulley 
on  the  outer  door.  When  the  door  opened  the  melon 
went  up,  but  when  my  teacher  shut  the  door  the  hol- 
low melon  descended  upon  his  bald  head  like  a  cap. 
The  janitor  was  sent  with  me  with  a  note  to  the  head- 
master's house,  and  I  paid  for  my  prank  with  my  own 
skin. 


334  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Another  time  I  sprinkled  snuff  over  his  table,  and 
he  sneezed  so  much  that  he  had  to  leave  the  class  and 
send  his  brother-in-law  to  take  his  place.  This  was 
an  officer  who  set  the  class  singing:  "God  save  the 
Czar!"  and  "Oh,  Liberty!  my  Liberty!"  Those  who 
did  not  sing  in  tune  he  rapped  over  the  head  with  a 
ruler,  which  made  a  funny,  hollow  noise,  but  it  hurt. 

The  Divinity  teacher,  the  handsome,  young,  luxuri- 
ant-haired priest,  did  not  like  me  because  I  had  no 
Bible,  and  also  because  I  mocked  his  way  of  speaking. 
The  first  thing  he  did  when  he  entered  the  classroom 
was  to  ask  me: 

"Pyeshkov,  have  you  brought  that  book  or  not? 
Yes.  The  book!" 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I  have  not  brought  it.     Yes." 

"What  do  you  mean — yes1?" 

"No." 

"Well,  you  can  just  go  home.  Yes — home,  for  I 
don't  intend  to  teach  you.  Yes!  I  don't  intend  to 
do  it." 

This  did  not  trouble  me  much.  I  went  out  and 
kicked  my  heels  in  the  dirty  village  street  till  the  end 
of  the  lesson,  watching  the  noisy  life  about  me. 

This  priest  had  a  beautiful  face,  like  a  Christ,  with 
caressing  eyes  like  a  woman's,  and  little  hands — gentle, 
like  everything  about  him.  Whatever  he  handled — 
a  book,  a  ruler,  a  penholder,  whatever  it  might  be — 


MY  CHILDHOOD  335 

he  handled  carefully,  as  if  it  were  alive  and  very  frag- 
ile, and  as  if  he  loved  it  and  were  afraid  of  spoiling  it 
by  touching  it.  He  was  not  quite  so  gentle  with  the 
children,  but  all  the  same  they  loved  him. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  I  learned  tolerably 
well,  I  was  soon  told  that  I  should  be  expelled  from 
the  school  for  unbecoming  conduct.  I  became  de- 
pressed, for  I  saw  a  very  unpleasant  time  coming,  as 
mother  was  growing  more  irritable  every  day,  and  beat 
me  more  than  ever. 

But  help  was  at  hand.  Bishop  Khrisanph  l  paid 
an  unexpected  visit  to  the  school.  He  was  a  little 
man,  like  a  wizard,  and,  if  I  remember  rightly,  was 
humpbacked. 

Sitting  at  the  table,  looking  so  small  in  his  wide 
black  clothes,  and  with  a  funny  hat  like  a  little  pail  on 
his  head,  he  shook  his  hands  free  from  his  sleeves  and 
said : 

"Now,  children,  let  us  have  a  talk  together." 

And  at  once  the  classroom  became  warm  and  bright, 
and  pervaded  by  an  atmosphere  of  unfamiliar  pleas- 
antness. 

JThe  author  of  the  famous  work,  in  three  volumes,  entitled  "Re- 
ligions of  the  Ancient  World,"  and  the  article  on  "Egyptian 
Metempsychosis,"  as  well  as  several  articles  of  public  interest  such 
as  "Concerning  Marriage,  and  Women."  That  last  article  made  a 
deep  impression  on  me  when  I  read  it  in  my  youth.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  not  remembered  its  title  correctly,  but  it  was  published  in 
some  theological  journal  in  the  seventies. 


336  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Calling  me  to  the  table,  after  many  others  had  had 
their  turns,  he  asked  me  gravely: 

"And  how  old  are  you?  Is  that  all*?  Why,  what 
a  tall  boy  you  are !  I  suppose  you  have  been  standing 
out  in  the  rain  pretty  often,  have  you?  Eh?" 

Placing  one  dried-up  hand  with  long,  sharp  nails 
on  the  table,  and  catching  hold  of  his  sparse  beard  with 
the  fingers  of  the  other,  he  placed  his  face,  with  its 
kind  eyes,  quite  close  to  mine,  as  he  said : 

"Well,  now  tell  me  which  you  like  best  of  the  Bible 
stones." 

When  I  told  him  that  I  had  no  Bible  and  did  not 
learn  Scripture  history,  he  pulled  his  cowl  straight, 
saying : 

"How  is  that?  You  know  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
for  you  to  learn  it.  But  perhaps  you  have  learned 
some  by  listening?  You  know  the  Psalms?  Good! 
And  the  prayers?  ...  There,  you  see!  And  the 
lives  of  the  Saints  too?  ...  In  rhyme?  .  .  .  Then  I 
think  you  are  very  well  up  in  the  subject." 

At  this  moment  our  priest  appeared — flushed  and  out 
of  breath.  The  Bishop  blessed  him,  but  when  he  be- 
gan to  speak  about  me,  he  raised  his  hand,  saying : 

"Excuse  me  ...  just  a  minute.  .  .  .  Now,  tell 
me  the  story  of  Alexei,  the  man  of  God. 

"Fine  verses  those — eh,  my  boy?"  he  said,  when  I 
came  to  a  full  stop,  having  forgotten  the  next  verse. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  337 

"Let  us  have  something  else  now — something  about 
King  David.  ...  Go  on,  I  am  listening  very  atten- 
tively." 

I  saw  that  he  was  really  listening,  and  that  the 
verses  pleased  him.  He  examined  me  for  a  long  time, 
then  he  suddenly  stood  up  and  asked  quickly: 

"You  have  learned  the  Psalms?  Who  taught  you? 
A  good  grandfather,  is  he?  Eh?  Bad?  You  don't 
say  so!  .  .  .  But  are  n't  you  very  naughty?" 

I  hesitated,  but  at  length  I  said : 

"Yes." 

The  teacher  and  the  priest  corroborated  my  confes- 
sion garrulously,  and  he  listened  to  them  with  his  eyes 
cast  down;  then  he  said  with  a  sigh: 

"You  hear  what  they  say  about  you?  Come 
here!" 

Placing  his  hand,  which  smelt  of  cypress  wood,  on 
my  head,  he  asked: 

"Why  are  you  so  naughty?" 

"It  is  so  dull  learning." 

"Dull?  Now,  my  boy,  that  is  not  true.  If  you 
found  it  dull  you  would  be  a  bad  scholar,  whereas 
your  teachers  testify  that  you  are  a  very  apt  pupil. 
That  means  that  you  have  another  reason  for  being 
naughty." 

Taking  a  little  book  from  his  breast,  he  said  as  he 
wrote  in  it : 


338  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Pyeshkov,  Alexei.  There !  .  .  .  All  the  same,  my 
boy,  you  must  keep  yourself  in  hand,  and  try  not  to 
be  too  naughty.  .  .  .  We  will  allow  you  to  be  just  a 
little  naughty;  but  people  have  plenty  to  plague  them 
without  that.  Is  n't  it  so,  children*?" 

Many  voices  answered  gaily: 

"Yes." 

"But  I  can  see  that  you  are  not  very  naughty  your- 
selves. Am  I  right*?" 

And  the  boys  laughingly  answered  all  together: 

"No.     We  are  very  naughty  too — very !" 

The  Bishop  leaned  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  drew 
me  to  him,  and  said  surprisingly,  causing  us  all — even 
the  teacher  and  the  priest — to  laugh: 

"It  is  a  fact,  my  brothers — that  when  I  was  your 
age  I  was  very  naughty  too.  WTiat  do  you  think  of 
that6?" 

The  children  laughed,  and  he  began  to  ask  them 
questions,  adroitly  contriving  to  muddle  them,  so  that 
they  began  to  answer  each  other;  and  the  merriment 
redoubled.  At  length  he  stood  up,  saying: 

"Well,  it  is  very  nice  to  be  with  you,  but  it  is  time 
for  me  to  go  now." 

Raising  his  hand  and  throwing  back  his  sleeve,  he 
made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  over  us  all  with  one  wide 
gesture,  and  blessed  us: 

"In  the  Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and 


MY  CHILDHOOD  339 

of  the  Holy  Ghost,  I  bless  you  and  your  labors. 
Good-by!" 

They  all  cried : 

"Good-by,  my  lord.     Come  again  soon." 

Shaking  his  cowl,  he  said : 

"I  shall  come  again.  I  shall  come  again,  and  bring 
you  some  little  books." 

And  he  said  to  the  teacher  as  he  sailed  out  of  the 
classroom : 

"Let  them  go  home  now." 

He  led  me  by  the  hand  to  the  porch,  where  he  said 
quietly,  bending  down  to  me: 

"So  you  will  hold  yourself  in,  won't  you?  ...  Is 
that  settled?  ...  I  understand  why  you  are  naughty, 
you  know.  .  .  .  Good-by,  my  boy !" 

I  was  very  excited;  my  heart  was  seething  with 
strange  feelings,  and  when  the  teacher,  having  dis- 
missed the  rest  of  the  class,  kept  me  in  to  tell  me 
that  now  I  ought  to  be  quieter  than  water  and  hum- 
bler than  grass,  I  listened  to  him  attentively  and  wil- 
lingly. 

The  priest,  putting  on  his  fur-coat,  chimed  in  gently : 

"And  from  to-day  you  will  have  to  assist  at  my  les- 
sons. Yes,  you  '11  have  to.  And  sit  still  too.  Yes — 
sit  still." 

But  while  matters  were  improving  at  school,  an  un- 
pleasant incident  occurred  at  home.  I  stole  a  rouble 


340  MY  CHILDHOOD 

from  mother.  The  crime  had  been  committed  without 
forethought.  One  evening  mother  went  out  and  left 
me  to  keep  house  and  mind  the  baby;  feeling  bored,  I 
began  to  turn  over  the  leaves  of  a  book  belonging  to 
my  stepfather — "The  Memoirs  of  a  Doctor,"  by  Dumas 
Pere — and  between  the  pages  I  came  across  two  notes, 
one  for  ten  roubles  and  the  other  for  one  rouble.  I 
could  not  understand  the  book,  so  I  shut  it  up ;  then  it 
suddenly  dawned  upon  me  that  if  I  had  a  rouble  I 
could  buy  not  only  the  Bible,  but  also  the  book  about 
Robinson.  That  such  a  book  existed  I  had  learned  at 
school  not  long  before  this.  One  frosty  day  in  recrea- 
tion time,  I  was  telling  the  boys  a  fairy-story,  when 
one  of  them  observed  in  a  tone  of  contempt : 

"Fairy-tales  are  bosh!  'Robinson'  is  what  I  like. 
It  is  a  true  story." 

Finding  several  other  boys  who  had  read  "Robinson" 
and  were  full  of  its  praises,  I  felt  offended  at  their  not 
liking  grandmother's  stories,  and  made  up  my  mind  to 
read  "Robinson"  for  myself,  so  that  I  should  be  able 
to  tell  them  it  was  "bosh !" 

The  next  day  I  brought  the  Bible  and  two  torn 
volumes  of  Andersen's  fairy-tales  to  school,  together 
with  three  pounds  of  white  bread  and  a  pound  of  sau- 
sages. In  the  little  dark  shop  by  the  wall  of  Vladin- 
ursk  Church  there  had  also  been  a  "Robinson" — a  thin 
little  book  with  a  yellow  cover,  and  a  picture  of  a 


MY  CHILDHOOD  341 

bearded  man  in  a  fur  nightcap,  with  the  skin  of  a  wild 
beast  over  his  shoulders,  on  the  front  page;  but  I  did 
not  like  the  look  of  it.  Even  the  exterior  of  the  fairy- 
tales was  pleasing,  in  spite  of  their  being  torn. 

In  the  long  playtime  I  distributed  the  bread  and 
sausages  amongst  the  boys,  and  we  began  to  read  that 
wonderful  story  "The  Nightingale,"  which  took  all  our 
hearts  by  storm. 

"In  China  all  the  people  are  Chinese,  and  even  the 
Emperor  is  a  Chinaman" — I  remember  how  pleasantly 
this  phrase  struck  me  with  its  simple,  joyful,  smiling 
music.  There  were  many  other  points  about  the  story 
too  which  were  wonderfully  good. 

But  I  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  read  "The  Night- 
ingale" in  school.  There  was  not  time  enough,  for 
when  I  returned  home  mother,  who  was  standing  be- 
fore the  fire  holding  a  frying-pan  in  which  she  had  been 
cooking  some  eggs,  asked  me  in  a  strange,  subdued 
voice : 

"Did  you  take  that  rouble?' 

"Yes,  I  took  it — out  of  that  book  there." 

She  gave  me  a  sound  beating  with  the  frying-pan, 
and  took  away  Andersen's  book  and  hid  it  somewhere 
so  that  I  could  never  find  it  again,  which  was  a  far 
worse  punishment  to  me  than  the  beating. 

I  did  not  go  to  school  for  several  days,  and  during 
that  time  my  stepfather  must  have  told  one  of  his 


342  MY  CHILDHOOD 

friends  about  my  exploit,  who  told  his  children,  who 
carried  the  story  to  school,  and  when  I  went  back  I 
was  met  with  the  new  cry  "Thief!" 

It  was  a  brief  and  clear  description,  but  it  did  not 
happen  to  be  a  true  one,  seeing  that  I  had  not  at- 
tempted to  conceal  the  fact  that  it  was  I  who  had  taken 
the  rouble.  I  tried  to  explain  this,  but  they  did  not  be- 
lieve me;  and  when  I  went  home  I  told  mother  that 
I  was  not  going  to  school  any  more. 

Sitting  by  the  window,  again  pregnant,  with  a  gray 
face  and  distraught,  weary  eyes,  she  was  feeding  my 
brother  Sascha,  and  she  stared  at  me  with  her  mouth 
open,  like  a  fish. 

"You  are  wrong,"  she  said  quietly.  "No  one  could 
possibly  know  that  you  took  the  rouble." 

"Come  yourself  and  ask  them." 

"You  must  have  chattered  about  it  yourself.  Con- 
fess now — you  told  it  yourself?  Take  care,  for  I 
shall  find  out  for  myself  to-morrow  who  spread  that 
story  in  school." 

I  gave  her  the  name  of  the  pupil.  Her  face  wrinkled 
pitifully  and  her  tears  began  to  fall. 

I  went  away  to  the  kitchen  and  lay  down  on  my  bed, 
which  consisted  of  a  box  behind  the  stove.  I  lay  there 
and  listened  to  my  mother  wailing : 

"My  God!     My  God!" 

Not  being  able  to  bear  the  disgusting  smell  of  greasy 


MY  CHILDHOOD  343 

cloths  being  dried  any  longer,  I  rose  and  went  out  to 
the  yard ;  but  mother  called  after  me : 

"Where  are  you  going  to?  Where  are  you  going? 
Come  here  to  me!" 

Then  we  sat  on  the  floor;  and  Sascha  lay  on  mother's 
knees,  and  taking  hold  of  the  buttons  of  her  dress 
bobbed  his  head  and  said  "boovooga,"  which  was  his 
way  of  saying  "poogorka"  (button). 

I  sat  pressed  to  mother's  side,  and  she  said,  kissing 
me: 

"We  .  .  .  are  poor,  and  every  kopeck  .  .  .  every 
kopeck  .  .  ." 

But  she  never  finished  what  she  began  to  say,  press- 
ing me  with  her  hot  arm. 

"What  trash — trash !"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  using 
a  word  I  had  heard  her  use  before. 

Sascha  repeated: 

"T'ash!" 

He  was  a  queer  little  boy;  clumsily  formed,  with  a 
large  head,  he  looked  around  on  everything  with  his 
beautiful  dark  blue  eyes,  smiling  quietly,  exactly  as  if 
he  were  expecting  some  one.  He  began  to  talk  unus- 
ually early,  and  lived  in  a  perpetual  state  of  quiet  hap- 
piness. He  was  a  weakly  child,  and  could  hardly 
crawl  about;  and  he  was  always  very  pleased  to  see  me, 
and  used  to  ask  to  be  taken  up  in  my  arms,  and  loved 
to  crush  my  ears  in  his  soft  little  fingers,  which  always, 


344  MY  CHILDHOOD 

somehow,  smelled  of  violets.  He  died  unexpectedly, 
without  having  been  ill  at  all ;  in  the  morning  he  was 
quietly  happy  as  usual,  and  in  the  evening,  when  the 
bells  were  ringing  for  vespers,  he  was  laid  out  upon  the 
table.  This  happened  soon  after  the  birth  of  the  sec- 
ond child,  Nikolai.  Mother  had  done  as  she  had  prom- 
ised, and  matters  were  put  right  for  me  at  school,  but 
I  was  soon  involved  in  another  scrape. 

One  day,  at  the  time  of  evening  tea,  I  was  coming 
into  the  kitchen  from  the  yard  when  I  heard  a  dis- 
tressful cry  from  mother: 

"Eugen,  I  beg  you,  I  beg — !" 

"Non — sense!"  said  my  stepfather. 

"But  you  are  going  to  her — I  know  it!" 

"We— 11?" 

For  some  seconds  they  were  both  silent;  then  mother 
said,  coughing: 

"What  vile  trash  you  are !" 

I  heard  him  strike  her,  and  rushing  into  the  room 
I  saw  that  mother,  who  had  fallen  on  to  her  knees, 
was  resting  her  back  and  elbows  against  a  chair,  with 
her  chest  forward  and  her  head  thrown  back,  with  a 
rattling  in  her  throat,  and  terribly  glittering  eyes ;  while 
he,  dressed  in  his  best,  with  a  new  overcoat,  was  strik- 
ing her  in  the  chest  with  his  long  foot.  I  seized  a 
knife  from  the  table — a  knife  with  a  bone  handle  set 
in  silver,  which  they  used  to  cut  bread  with,  the  only 


MY  CHILDHOOD  345 

thing  belonging  to  my  father  which  remained  to  mother 
— I  seized  it  and  struck  with  all  my  force  at  my  step- 
father's side. 

By  good-luck  mother  was  in  time  to  push  Maximov 
away,  and  the  knife  going  sideways  tore  a  wide  hole 
in  his  overcoat,  and  only  grazed  his  skin.  My  step- 
father, gasping,  rushed  from  the  room  holding  his  side, 
and  mother  seized  me  and  lifted  me  up;  then  with  a 
groan  threw  me  on  the  floor.  My  stepfather  took  me 
away  from  her  when  he  returned  from  the  yard. 

Late  that  evening,  when,  in  spite  of  everything,  he 
had  gone  out,  mother  came  to  me  behind  the  stove, 
gently  took  me  in  her  arms,  kissed  me,  and  said, 
weeping : 

"Forgive  me;  it  was  my  fault!  Oh,  my  dear! 
How  could  you1?  .  .  .  And  with  a  knife  .  .  .  ?" 

I  remember  with  perfect  clearness  how  I  said  to  her 
that  I  would  kill  my  stepfather  and  myself  too.  And 
I  think  I  should  have  done  it;  at  any  rate  I  should 
have  made  the  attempt.  Even  now  I  can  see  that  con- 
temptible long  leg,  in  braided  trousers,  flung  out  into 
the  air,  and  kicking  a  woman's  breast.  Many  years 
later  that  unfortunate  Maximov  died  before  my  eyes 
in  a  hospital.  I  had  then  become  strangely  attached 
to  him,  and  I  wept  to  see  the  light  in  his  beautiful, 
roving  eyes  grow  dim,  and  finally  go  out  altogether;  but 
even  in  that  sad  moment,  although  my  heart  was  full 


346  MY  CHILDHOOD 

of  a  great  grief,  I  could  not  forget  that  he  had  kicked 
my  mother. 

As  I  remember  these  oppressive  horrors  of  our  wild 
Russian  life,  I  ask  myself  often  whether  it  is  worth 
while  to  speak  of  them.  And  then,  with  restored  con- 
fidence, I  answer  myself — "It  is  worth  while  because 
it  is  actual,  vile  fact,  which  has  not  died  out,  even  in 
these  days — a  fact  which  must  be  traced  to  its  origin, 
and  pulled  up  by  the  root  from  the  memories,  the  souls 
of  the  people,  and  from  our  narrow,  sordid  lives." 

And  there  is  another  and  more  important  reason  im- 
pelling me  to  describe  these  horrors.  Although  they 
are  so  disgusting,  although  they  oppress  us  and  crush 
many  beautiful  souls  to  death,  yet  the  Russian  is  still 
so  healthy  and  young  in  heart  that  he  can  and  does 
rise  above  them.  For  in  this  amazing  life  of  ours  not 
only  does  the  animal  side  of  our  nature  flourish  and 
grow  fat,  but  with  this  animalism  there  has  grown  up, 
triumphant  in  spite  of  it,  bright,  healthful  and  creative 
— a  type  of  humanity  which  inspires  us  to  look  forward 
to  our  regeneration,  to  the  time  when  we  shall  all  live 
peacefully  and  humanely. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ONCE  more  I  found  myself  at  grandfather's. 
"Well,  robber,  what  do  you  want*?"  were  his 
words  of  greeting;  and  he  accompanied  them  by  rap- 
ping his  fingers  on  the  table.     "I  am  not  going  to  feed 
you  any  longer;  let  your  grandmother  do  it." 

"And  so  I  will,"  said  grandmother.  "Ekh!  what 
ill-luck.  Just  think  of  it." 

"All  right,  feed  him  if  you  want  to,"  cried  grand- 
father; then  growing  calmer,  he  explained  to  me: 

"She  and  I  live  quite  separately  now;  we  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  each  other." 

Grandmother,  sitting  under  the  window,  was  mak- 
ing lace  with  swift  movements;  the  shuttle  snapped 
gaily,  and  the  pillow,  thickly  sewn  with  copper  pins, 
shone  like  a  golden  hedgehog  in  the  spring  sunlight. 
And  grandmother  herself — one  would  think  she  had 
been  cast  in  copper — was  unchanged.  But  grandfather 
was  more  wizened,  more  wrinkled;  his  sandy  hair  had 
grown  gray,  and  his  calm,  self-important  manner  had 
given  way  to  a  fuming  fussiness;  his  green  eyes  had 
grown  dim,  and  had  a  suspicious  expression.  Laugh- 
ingly, grandmother  told  me  of  the  division  of  property 

347 


348  MY  CHILDHOOD 

which  had  taken  place  between  herself  and  grandfather; 
he  had  given  her  all  the  pots  and  pans  and  crockery 
ware,  saying: 

"Here  is  your  little  lot,  and  don't  you  ask  me  for 
anything  else." 

Thereupon  he  took  all  her  old  clothes  and  things, 
including  a  cloak  of  fox  fur,  and  sold  them  for  seven 
hundred  roubles,  and  put  the  money  out  at  interest  to 
his  Jew  godson,  the  fruit  merchant.  Finally  the  mal- 
ady of  avarice  fastened  upon  him,  and  he  became  lost 
to  shame;  he  began  to  go  about  amongst  his  old  ac- 
quaintances, his  former  colleagues,  rich  merchants,  and 
complaining  that  he  had  been  ruined  by  his  children, 
would  ask  for  money  to  help  him  in  his  poverty.  He 
profited  by  their  regard  for  him,  for  they  gave  to  him 
generously — large  sums  in  notes  which  he  flourished 
boastfully  in  grandmother's  face,  taunting  her,  like  a 
child: 

"Look,  fool,  they  won't  give  you  a  hundredth  part  of 
that." 

The  money  which  he  obtained  in  this  way  he  put 
out  at  interest  with  a  new  friend  of  his — a  tall,  bald 
furrier  called,  in  the  village,  Khlist  (a  horsewhip), 
and  his  sister,  a  shopkeeper — a  fat,  red-cheeked  woman 
with  brown  eyes,  dark  and  sweet  like  virgin-honey. 

All  expenses  in  the  house  were  carefully  divided: 
one  day  the  dinner  was  prepared  by  grandmother  from 


MY  CHILDHOOD  349 

provisions  bought  with  her  own  money;  and  the  next 
day  it  was  grandfather  who  provided  the  food — and 
his  dinners  were  never  as  good  as  hers,  for  grandmother 
bought  good  meat  while  he  bought  such  stuff  as  liver 
and  lights  and  scraps  of  meat.  They  each  had  their 
own  store  of  tea  and  sugar,  but  the  tea  was  brewed  in 
the  same  teapot,  and  grandfather  would  say  anxiously : 

"Wait!  Wait  a  moment!  .  .  .  How  much  have 
you  put  in1?" 

Shaking  the  tea-leaves  out  on  to  his  palm,  he  would 
carefully  measure  them  out,  saying : 

"Your  tea  is  finer  than  mine,  so  I  ought  to  put  in 
less,  as  mine  is  a  large  leaf." 

He  was  very  particular  that  grandmother  should 
pour  out  his  tea  and  her  own  both  equally  strong,  and 
that  she  should  fill  her  cup  only  as  often  as  he  filled 
his. 

"What  about  the  last  one1?"  she  asked,  just  before 
she  had  poured  out  all  the  tea. 

Grandfather  looked  into  the  teapot  and  said : 

"There  's  plenty  there — for  the  last  one." 

Even  the  oil  for  the  image-lamp  he  bought  separ- 
ately— and  this  after  fifty  years  of  united  labor! 

These  tricks  of  grandfather  amused  and  disgusted 
me  at  the  same  time,  but  to  grandmother  they  were 
simply  funny. 

"You  be  quiet!"  she  would  say  pacifyingly  to  me. 


350  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"What  of  it*?  He  is  an  old,  old  man,  and  he  is  get- 
ting silly;  that 's  all.  He  must  be  eighty,  or  not  far 
off  it.  Let  him  play  the  fool;  what  harm  does  it  do 
any  one?  And  I  will  do  a  little  work  for  myself  and 
you — never  mind !" 

I  also  began  to  earn  a  little  money;  in  the  holidays, 
early  in  the  morning,  I  took  a  bag  and  went  about  the 
yards  and  streets  collecting  bones,  rags,  paper  and 
nails.  Rag-merchants  would  give  two  greevin  (twenty 
kopecks)  for  a  pood  (forty  pounds)  of  rags  and  paper, 
or  iron,  and  ten  or  eight  kopecks  for  a  pood  of  bones. 
I  did  this  work  on  week  days  after  school  too,  and  on 
Saturdays  I  sold  articles  at  thirty  kopecks  or  half  a 
rouble  each,  and  sometimes  more  if  I  was  lucky. 
Grandmother  took  the  money  away  from  me  and  put  it 
quickly  into  the  pocket  of  her  skirt,  and  praised  me, 
looking  down: 

"There!  Thank  you,  my  darling.  This  will  do 
for  our  food.  .  .  .  You  have  done  very  well." 

One  day  I  saw  her  holding  five  kopecks  of  mine  in 
her  hands,  looking  at  them,  and  quietly  crying;  and 
one  muddy  tear  hung  from  the  tip  of  her  spongy, 
pumicestone-like  nose. 

A  more  profitable  game  than  rag-picking  was  the 
theft  of  logs  and  planks  from  the  timber-yards  on  the 
banks  of  the  Oka,  or  on  the  Island  of  Pesk,  where,  hi 
fair  time,  iron  was  bought  and  sold  in  hastily  built 


MY  CHILDHOOD  351 

booths.  After  the  fairs  the  booths  used  to  be  taken 
down,  but  the  poles  and  planks  were  stowed  away  in 
the  boathouses,  and  remained  there  till  close  on  the 
time  of  the  spring  floods.  A  small  houseowner  would 
give  ten  kopecks  for  a  good  plank,  and  it  was  possible 
to  steal  two  a  day.  But  for  the  success  of  the  under- 
taking, bad  weather  was  essential,  when  a  snowstorm 
or  heavy  rains  would  drive  the  watchmen  to  hide  them- 
selves under  cover. 

I  managed  to  pick  up  some  friendly  accomplices — 
one  ten-year-old  son  of  a  Morduan  beggar,  Sanka 
Vyakhir,  a  kind,  gentle  boy  always  tranquilly  happy; 
kinless  Kostrom,  lanky  and  lean,  with  tremendous 
black  eyes,  who  in  his  thirteenth  year  was  sent  to  a 
colony  of  young  criminals  for  stealing  a  pair  of  doves ; 
the  little  Tartar  Khabi,  a  twelve-year-old  "strong 
man,"  simple-minded  and  kind;  blunt-nosed  Yaz,  the 
son  of  a  graveyard  watchman  and  grave-digger,  a  boy 
of  eight,  taciturn  as  a  fish,  and  suffering  from  epilepsy; 
and  the  eldest  of  all  was  the  son  of  a  widowed  dress- 
maker, Grishka  Tchurka,  a  sensible,  straightforward 
boy,  who  was  terribly  handy  with  his  fists.  We  all 
lived  in  the  same  street. 

Theft  was  not  counted  as  a  crime  in  our  village; 
it  had  become  a  custom,  and  was  practically  the  only 
means  the  half-starved  natives  had  of  getting  a  live- 
lihood. Fairs  lasting  a  month  and  a  half  would  not 


352  MY  CHILDHOOD 

keep  them  for  a  whole  year,  and  many  respectable 
householders  "did  a  little  work  on  the  river" — catch- 
ing logs  and  planks  which  were  borne  along  by  the 
tide,  and  carrying  them  off  separately  or  in  small  loads 
at  a  time;  but  the  chief  form  this  occupation  took  was 
that  of  thefts  from  barges,  or  in  a  general  prowling 
up  and  down  the  Volga  or  Oka  on  the  lookout  for  any- 
thing which  was  not  properly  secured.  The  grown-up 
people  used  to  boast  on  Sundays  of  their  successes,  and 
the  youngsters  listened  and  learned. 

In  the  springtime,  during  the  spell  of  heat  before 
the  fair,  when  the  village  streets  were  full  of  drunken 
workmen,  cabmen,  and  all  classes  of  working  folk,  the 
village  children  used  to  rummage  in  their  pockets. 
This  was  looked  upon  as  legitimate  business,  and  they 
carried  it  on  under  the  very  eyes  of  their  elders.  They 
stole  his  tools  from  the  carpenter,  the  keys  from  the 
heedless  cabman,  the  harness  from  the  dray-horse,  and 
the  iron  from  the  axles  of  the  cart.  But  our  little 
band  did  not  engage  in  that  sort  of  thing.  Tchurka 
announced  one  day  in  a  tone  of  decision : 

"I  am.  not  going  to  steal.  Mamka  does  not  allow 
it." 

"And  I  am  afraid  to,"  said  Khabi. 

Kostrom  was  possessed  by  an  intense  dislike  for  the 
little  thieves;  he  pronounced  the  word  "thieves"  with 


MY  CHILDHOOD  353 

peculiar  force,  and  when  he  saw  strange  children  pick- 
ing the  pockets  of  tipsy  men  he  drove  them  away,  and 
if  he  happened  to  catch  one  of  them  he  gave  him  a 
good  beating.  This  large-eyed,  unhappy-looking  boy 
imagined  himself  to  be  grown-up;  he  walked  with  a 
peculiar  gait,  sideways,  just  like  a  porter,  and  tried  to 
speak  in  a  thick,  gruff  voice,  and  was  very  reserved  and 
self-possessed,  like  an  old  man. 

Vyakhir  believed  that  to  steal  was  to  sin. 

But  to  take  planks  and  poles  from  Pesk,  that  was 
not  accounted  a  sin;  none  of  us  were  afraid  of  that, 
and  we  so  ordered  matters  as  to  make  it  very  easy 
to  succeed.  Some  evening,  when  it  was  beginning  to 
grow  dark,  or  by  day,  if  it  was  bad  weather,  Vyakhir 
and  Yaz  set  out  for  Pesk,  crossing  the  creek  by  the  wet 
ice.  They  went  openly,  for  the  purpose  of  drawing 
on  themselves  the  attention  of  the  watchmen,  while 
we  four  crossed  over  separately  without  being  seen. 
While  the  watchmen,  suspicious  of  Yaz  and  Vyakhir, 
were  occupied  in  watching  them,  we  betook  ourselves 
to  the  boathouse,  which  we  had  fixed  upon  beforehand, 
chose  something  to  carry  off,  and  while  our  fleet-footed 
companions  were  teasing  the  watchmen,  and  luring 
them  to  pursuit,  we  made  off  home.  Each  one  of  us 
had  a  piece  of  string  with  a  large  nail,  bent  like  a  hook, 
at  the  end  of  it,  which  we  fastened  in  the  plank  or  pole, 


354  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  thus  were  able  to  drag  it  across  the  snow  and  ice. 
The  watchmen  hardly  ever  saw  us,  and  if  they  did  see 
us  they  were  never  able  to  overtake  us. 

When  we  had  sold  our  plunder  we  divided  the  gains 
into  six  shares,  which  sometimes  came  to  as  much  as 
five  or  seven  kopecks  each.  On  that  money  it  was  pos- 
sible to  live  very  comfortably  for  a  day,  but  Vyakhir's 
mother  beat  him  if  he  did  not  bring  her  something  for 
a  glass  of  brandy  or  a  little  drop  of  vodka.  Kostrom 
was  saving  his  money,  dreaming  of  the  establishment 
of  a  pigeon-hunt.  The  mother  of  Tchurka  was  ill,  so 
he  tried  to  work  as  much  as  possible.  Khabi  also 
saved  his  money,  with  the  object  of  returning  to  his 
native  town,  whence  he  had  been  brought  by  his  uncle 
who  had  been  drowned  at  Nijni  soon  after  his  arrival. 
Khabi  had  forgotten  what  the  town  was  called;  all  he 
remembered  was  that  it  stood  on  the  Kama,  close  by 
the  Volga.  For  some  reason  we  always  made  fun  of  this 
town,  and  we  used  to  tease  the  cross-eyed  Tartar  by 
singing: 

"On  the  Kama  a  town  there  is, 
But  nobody  knows  where  it  is! 
Our  hands  to  it  will  never  reach, 
Our  feet  to  find  it  we  cannot  teach." 

At  first  Khabi  used  to  get  angry  with  us,  but  one 
day  Vyakhir  said  to  him  in  his  cooing  voice,  which 
justified  his  nickname: 


MY  CHILDHOOD  355 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Surely  you  are  not 
angry  with  your  comrades." 

The  Tartar  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  after  that 
he  used  to  join  us  in  singing  about  the  town  on  the 
Kama. 

But  all  the  same  we  preferred  picking  up  rags  and 
bones  to  stealing  planks.  The  former  was  particu- 
larly interesting  in  the  springtime,  when  the  snow  had 
melted,  and  after  the  rain  had  washed  the  street  pave- 
ments clean.  There,  by  the  place  where  the  fair  was 
held,  we  could  always  pick  up  plenty  of  nails  and  pieces 
of  iron  in  the  gutter,  and  occasionally  we  found  cop- 
per and  silver  coins;  but  to  propitiate  the  watchman, 
so  that  he  would  not  chase  us  away  or  seize  our  sacks, 
we  had  to  give  him  a  few  kopecks  or  make  profound 
obeisances  to  him.  But  we  found  it  no  easy  task  to 
get  money.  Nevertheless,  we  got  on  very  well  to- 
gether, and  though  we  sometimes  disputed  a  little 
amongst  ourselves,  I  do  not  remember  that  we  ever  had 
one  serious  quarrel. 

Our  peacemaker  was  Vyakhir,  who  always  had  some 
simple  words  ready,  exactly  suited  to  the  occasion, 
which  astonished  us  and  put  us  to  shame.  He  uttered 
them  himself  in  a  tone  of  astonishment.  Yaz's  spite- 
ful sallies  neither  offended  nor  upset  him ;  in  his  opinion 
everything  bad  was  unnecessary,  and  he  would  reject 
it  calmly  and  convincingly. 


356  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Well,  what  is  the  use  of  it?"  he  would  ask,  and 
we  saw  clearly  that  it  was  no  use. 

He  called  his  mother  "my  Morduan,"  and  we  did 
not  laugh  at  him. 

"My  Morduan  rolled  home  tipsy  again  last  evening," 
he  would  tell  us  gaily,  flashing  his  round,  gold-colored 
eyes.  "She  kept  the  door  open,  and  sat  on  the  step 
and  sang — like  a  hen." 

"What  did  she  sing1?"  asked  Tchurka,  who  liked  to 
be  precise. 

Vyakhir,  slapping  his  hands  on  his  knees,  reproduced 
his  mother's  song  in  a  thin  voice : 

"Shepherd,  tap  thy  window  small, 
Whilst  we  run  about  the  mall; 
Tap,  tap  again,  quick  bird  of  night, 
With  piping  music,  out  of  sight, 
On  the  village  cast  thy  spell." 

He  knew  many  passionate  songs  like  this,  and  sang 
them  very  well. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "so  she  went  to  sleep  on  the 
doorstep,  and  the  room  got  so  cold  I  was  shivering 
from  head  to  foot,  and  got  nearly  frozen  to  death; 
but  she  was  too  heavy  for  me  to  drag  her  in.  I 
said  to  her  this  morning,  'What  do  you  mean  by  get- 
ting so  dreadfully  drunk1?'  'Oh,'  she  said,  'it  is  all 
right.  Bear  with  me  a  little  longer.  I  shall  soon  be 
dead.' 


MY  CHILDHOOD  357 

"She  will  soon  be  dead,"  repeated  Tchurka,  in  a  se- 
rious tone.  "She  is  already  dropsical." 

"Would  you  be  sorry?"  I  asked. 

"Of  course  I  should,"  exclaimed  Vyakhir,  astonished. 
"She  is  all  right  with  me,  you  know." 

And  all  of  us,  although  we  knew  that  the  Morduan 
beat  Vyakhir  continually,  believed  that  she  was  "all 
right,"  and  sometimes  even,  when  we  had  had  a  bad 
day,  Tchurka  would  suggest: 

"Let  us  put  our  kopecks  together  to  buy  Vyakhir's 
mother  some  brandy,  or  she  will  beat  him." 

The  only  ones  in  our  company  who  could  read  and 
write  were  Tchurka  and  I.  Vyakhir  greatly  envied  us, 
and  would  murmur,  as  he  took  himself  by  his  pointed, 
mouse-like  ears: 

"As  soon  as  my  Morduan  is  buried  I  shall  go  to 
school  too.  I  shall  go  on  my  knees  to  the  teacher  and 
beg  him  to  take  me,  and  when  I  have  finished  learning 
I  will  go  as  gardener  to  the  Archbishop,  or  perhaps  to 
the  Emperor  himself." 

In  the  spring  the  Morduan,  in  company  with  an  old 
man,  who  was  a  collector  for  a  church  building-fund, 
and  a  bottle  of  vodka,  was  crushed  by  the  fall  of  a 
wood-stack;  they  took  the  woman  to  the  hospital,  and 
practical  Tchurka  said  to  Vyakhir : 

"Come  and  live  with  me,  and  my  mother  will  teach 
you  to  read  and  write." 


358  MY  CHILDHOOD 

And  in  a  very  short  time  Vyakhir,  holding  his  head 
high,  could  read  the  inscription :  "Grocery  Store,"  only 
he  read  "Balakeinia,"  and  Tchurka  corrected  him: 

"Bakaleinia,  my  good  soul." 

"I  know — but  the  letters  jump  about  so.  They 
jump  because  they  are  pleased  that  they  are  being 
read." 

He  surprised  us  all,  and  made  us  laugh  very  much 
by  his  love  of  trees  and  grass.  The  soil  of  the  village 
was  sandy  and  vegetation  was  scanty — in  some  of  the 
yards  stood  a  miserable  willow  tree,  or  some  straggling 
elder  bushes,  or  a  few  gray,  dry  blades  of  grass  hid 
themselves  timidly  under  a  fence — but  if  one  of  us  sat 
on  them,  Vyakhir  would  cry  angrily : 

"Why  must  you  sit  on  the  grass4?  Why  don't  you 
sit  on  the  gravel*?  It  is  all  the  same  to  you,  is  n't  it1?" 

In  his  opinion  there  was  no  sense  in  breaking  off 
branches  from  the  willow,  or  plucking  elder  flowers,  or 
cutting  weeping  willow  twigs  on  the  banks  of  the  Oka ; 
he  always  expressed  great  surprise  when  we  did  this, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  spread  out  his  hands: 

"Why  on  earth  do  you  want  to  break  everything4? 
Look  what  you  have  done,  you  devils !"  And  before 
his  astonishment  we  were  ashamed. 

We  had  contrived  a  very  merry  game  for  Satur- 
days, and  we  were  preparing  for  it  all  the  week  by 
collecting  all  the  troddendown  bast  shoes  we  could 


MY  CHILDHOOD  359 

find  and  storing  them  in  convenient  corners.  Then  on 
Saturday  evening  when  the  Tartar  porters  came  home 
from  the  Siberian  ports,  we  took  up  a  position  at  the 
cross-roads  and  pelted  the  Tartars  with  shoes. 

At  first  this  used  to  irritate  them,  and  they  ran  after 
us,  and  abused  us ;  but  the  game  soon  began  to  interest 
them,  and  knowing  what  they  might  expect  they  ap- 
peared on  the  field  of  battle  also  armed  with  a  quan- 
tity of  bast  shoes,  and  what  is  more,  they  found  out 
where  we  kept  our  war  materials  and  stole  them.  We 
made  a  complaint  about  this — "It  is  not  playing  the 
game !"  Then  they  divided  the  shoes,  giving  us  half, 
and  the  fight  began.  Generally  they  drew  themselves 
up  in  an  open  place,  in  the  middle  of  the  cross-roads, 
and  with  yells  we  ran  round  them,  hurling  the  shoes. 
They  also  yelled,  and  laughed  loud  enough  to  deafen 
any  one  when  one  of  us  buried  his  head  in  the  sand,  hav- 
ing been  thrown  down  by  a  shoe  adroitly  hurled  under 
his  feet. 

This  game  would  be  carried  on  with  zest  for  a  long 
time,  sometimes  till  it  was  nearly  dark;  and  the  in- 
habitants used  to  gather  round,  or  watch  us  from  cor- 
ners, and  grumble,  because  they  thought  it  was  the 
right  thing  to  do.  The  dusty  shoes  flew  about  like 
crows  in  the  damp  air;  sometimes  one  of  us  was  hit 
hard,  but  the  pleasure  of  the  game  was  greater  than 
pain  or  injury. 


360  MY  CHILDHOOD 

The  Tartars  were  not  less  keen  on  it  than  we  were; 
often  when  we  had  finished  playing  we  went  with 
them  to  an  eating-house  where  they  fed  us  with  a  spe- 
cial sweet  kind  of  preserve  made  with  fruit,  and  after 
supper  we  drank  thick,  brick-colored  tea,  with  sweet- 
meats. We  liked  these  people,  whose  strength  matched 
their  great  size;  there  was  something  about  them  so 
childlike  and  transparent.  The  points  which  most 
struck  me  about  them  were  their  meekness,  their  un- 
wavering good-nature,  and  their  grave,  impressive  re- 
spect for  each  other. 

They  all  laughed  so  heartily  that  the  tears  ran  Sown 
their  faces;  and  one  of  them,  a  native  of  Kassimov, 
with  a  broken  nose,  was  a  man  renowned  for  his 
strength.  One  day  he  carried,  from  a  barge  which 
was  at  some  distance  from  the  shore,  a  bell  weighing 
twenty-seven  poods,  and  he  roared  out  laughing  as  he 
cried:  "Voo!  Voo!" 

One  day  he  made  Vyakhir  sit  on  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  and  lifting  him  on  high,  he  said : 

"Look  where  you  are  living  now,  right  up  in  the 
sky." 

In  bad  weather  we  used  to  assemble  at  Yaz's  home, 
in  the  burial-ground,  where  his  father's  lodge  was. 
This  father  was  an  individual  with  hoisted  bones,  long 
arms,  and  a  small  head;  mud-colored  hair  grew  on  his 
face.  His  head  looked  like  a  burdock  set  on  his  long, 


MY  CHILDHOOD  361 

thin  neck,  as  on  a  stalk.  He  had  a  delightful  way  of 
half  closing  his  yellow  eyes  and  muttering  rapidly : 

"God  give  us  rest.     Ouch !" 

We  bought  three  zolotniks  of  tea,  eight  portions  of 
sugar,  some  bread,  and,  of  course,  a  portion  of  vodka 
for  Yaz's  father,  who  was  sternly  ordered  about  by 
Tchurka : 

"Good  for  nothing  peasant,  get  the  samovar  ready." 

The  peasant  laughed  and  prepared  the  tin  samovar; 
and  while  we  discussed  business  as  we  waited  for  tea 
to  be  ready,  he  gave  us  good  advice : 

"Look  here!  The  day  after  to-morrow  is  the 
month's  mind  of  Trusov,  and  there  will  be  some  feast- 
ing going  on  there.  .  .  .  There  's  a  place  to  pick  up 
bones." 

"The  cook  collects  all  the  bones  at  Trusov's,"  ob- 
served Tchurka,  who  knew  everything. 

Vyakhir  said  dreamily,  as  he  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow on  the  graveyard: 

"We  shall  soon  be  able  to  go  out  to  the  woods." 

Yaz  was  always  silent,  looking  at  us  all  expres- 
sively with  his  sad  eyes.  In  silence  he  showed  us  his 
toys — wooden  soldiers  which  he  had  found  in  a  rub- 
bish pit,  horses  without  legs,  pieces  of  copper,  and  but- 
tons. 

His  father  set  the  table  with  cups  and  saucers  of 
various  patterns,  and  brought  in  the  samovar.  Kos- 


362  MY  CHILDHOOD 

trom  sat  down  to  pour  out  tea,  and  he,  when  he  had 
drunk  his  vodka,  climbed  on  the  stove,  and  stretching 
out  his  long  neck,  surveyed  us  with  vinous  eyes,  and 
muttered : 

"Ouch !  So  you  must  take  your  ease,  as  if  you  were 
not  little  boys  at  all,  eh"?  Ach!  thieves  .  .  .  God 
give  us  rest !" 

Vyakhir  said  to  him : 

"We  are  not  thieves  at  all." 

"Well — little  thieves  then." 

If  Yaz's  father  became  too  tiresome,  Tchurka  cried 
angrily : 

"Be  quiet,  you  trashy  peasant !" 

Vyakhir,  Tchurka  and  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  the 
man  counting  up  the  number  of  houses  which  contained 
people  in  ill-health,  or  trying  to  guess  how  many  of 
the  villagers  would  die  soon;  he  spoke  so  calculatingly 
and  pitilessly,  and  seeing  that  what  he  said  was  objec- 
tionable to  us,  he  purposely  teased  and  tormented  us: 

"Oh,  so  you  are  afraid,  young  masters'?  Well,  well ! 
And  before  long  a  certain  stout  person  will  die — ekh ! 
And  long  may  he  rot  in  his  grave !" 

We  tried  to  stop  him,  but  he  would  not  leave  off. 

"And,  you  know,  you've  got  to  die  too;  you  can't 
live  long  in  this  cesspool !" 

"Well,"  said  Vyakhir,  "that's  all  right;  and  when 
we  die  they  will  make  angels  of  us." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  363 

"Yo — u?"  exclaimed  Yaz's  father,  catching  his 
breath  in  amazement.  "You?  Angels?" 

He  chuckled,  and  then  began  to  tease  us  again  by 
telling  us  disgusting  stories  about  dead  people. 

But  sometimes  this  man  began  to  talk  in  a  murmur, 
lowering  his  voice  strangely: 

"Listen,  children  .  .  .  wait  a  bit !  The  day  before 
yesterday  they  buried  a  female  .  .  .  and  I  knew  her 
history,  children.  .  .  .  What  do  you  think  the  woman 
was?" 

He  often  spoke  about  women,  and  always  obscenely ; 
yet  there  was  something  appealing  and  plaintive  about 
his  stories — he  invited  us  to  share  his  thoughts,  as  it 
were — and  we  listened  to  him  attentively.  He  spoke 
in  an  ignorant  and  unintelligent  manner,  frequently 
interrupting  his  speech  by  questions ;  but  his  stories  al- 
ways left  some  disturbing  splinters  or  fragments  in 
one's  memory. 

"They  ask  her:  'Who  set  the  place  on  fire  ?'  'I  did!' 
'How  can  that  be,  foolish  woman,  when  you  were  not 
at  home  that  night,  but  lying  ill  in  the  hospital?'  'I 
set  the  place  on  fire.'  That 's  the  way  she  kept  on. 
.  .  .  Why?  Ouch!  God  give  us  rest." 

He  knew  the  life  story  of  nearly  every  female  in- 
habitant of  the  place  who  had  been  buried  by  him  in 
that  bare,  melancholy  graveyard,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
he  were  opening  the  doors  of  houses,  which  we  entered, 


364  MY  CHILDHOOD 

and  saw  how  the  occupiers  lived;  and  it  made  us  feel 
serious  and  important.  He  would  have  gone  on  talk- 
ing all  night  till  the  morning  apparently,  but  as  soon 
as  the  lodge  window  grew  cloudy,  and  the  twilight 
closed  in  upon  it,  Tchurka  rose  from  the  table  and 
said :  . 

"I  am  going  home,  or  Mamka  will  be  frightened. 
Who  is  coming  with  me*?" 

We  all  went  away  then.  Yaz  conducted  us  to  the 
fence,  closed  the  gate  after  us,  and  pressing  his  dark, 
bony  face  against  the  grating,  said  in  a  thick  voice: 

"Good-by." 

We  called  out  "Good-by"  to  him  too.  It  was  al- 
ways hard  to  leave  him  in  the  graveyard.  Kostrom 
said  one  day,  looking  back: 

"We  shall  come  and  ask  for  him  one  day — and  he 
will  be  dead." 

"Yaz  has  a  worse  life  than  any  of  us,"  Tchurka 
said  frequently;  but  Vyakhir  always  rejoined: 

"We  don't  have  a  bad  time — any  of  us!" 

And  when  I  look  back  I  see  that  we  did  not  have 
a  bad  time.  That  independent  life  so  full  of  contrasts 
was  very  attractive  to  me,  and  so  were  my  comrades, 
who  inspired  me  with  a  desire  to  be  always  doing  them 
a  good  turn. 

My  life  at  school  had  again  become  hard;  the  pu- 
pils nicknamed  me  "The  Ragman"  and  "The  Tramp," 


MY'  CHILDHOOD  365 

and  one  day,  after  a  quarrel,  they  told  the  teacher  that 
I  smelt  like  a  drain,  and  that  they  could  not  sit  beside 
me.  I  remember  how  deeply  this  accusation  cut  me, 
and  how  hard  it  was  for  me  to  go  to  school  after  it. 
The  complaint  had  been  made  up  out  of  malice.  I 
washed  very  thoroughly  every  morning,  and  I  never 
went  to  school  in  the  clothes  I  wore  when  I  was  col- 
lecting rags. 

However,  in  the  end  I  passed  the  examination  for 
the  third  class,  and  received  as  prizes  bound  copies  of 
the  Gospels  and  the  "Fables  of  Krilov,"  and  another 
book  unbound  which  bore  the  unintelligible  title  of 
"Fata-Morgana" ;  they  also  gave  me  some  sort  of 
laudatory  certificates.  When  I  took  my  presents  home, 
grandfather  was  delighted,  and  announced  his  intention 
of  taking  the  books  away  from  me  and  locking  them 
up  in  his  box.  But  grandmother  had  been  lying  ill 
for  several  days,  penniless,  and  grandfather  continually 
sighed  and  squeaked  out:  "You  will  eat  me  out  of 
house  and  home.  Ugh!  You!"  so  I  took  the  books 
to  a  little  shop,  where  I  sold  them  for  fifty-five  kopecks, 
and  gave  the  money  to  grandmother;  as  to  the  cer- 
tificates I  spoiled  them  by  scribbling  over  them,  and 
then  handed  them  to  grandfather,  who  took  them  with- 
out turning  them  over,  and  so  put  them  away,  with- 
out noticing  the  mischief  I  had  done,  but  I  paid  for  it 
later  on. 


366  MY  CHILDHOOD 

As  school  had  broken  up  I  began  to  live  in  the 
streets  once  more,  a  d  I  found  it  better  than  ever. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  spring,  and  money  was 
earned  easily;  on  Sundays  the  whole  company  of  us 
went  out  into  the  fields,  or  into  the  woods,  where  the 
foliage  was  fresh  and  young,  early  in  the  morning, 
and  did  not  return  till  late  in  the  evening,  pleasantly 
tired,  and  drawn  together  closer  than  ever. 

But  this  form  of  existence  did  not  last  long.  My 
stepfather,  dismissed  for  getting  into  debt,  had  dis- 
appeared again,  and  mother  came  back  to  grand- 
father, with  my  little  brother  Nikolai,  and  I  had  to 
be  nurse,  for  grandmother  had  gone  to  live  at  the 
house  of  a  rich  merchant  in  the  town,  where  she  worked 
at  stitching  shrouds. 

Mother  was  so  weak  and  anemic  that  she  could 
hardly  walk,  and  she  had  a  terrible  expression  in  her 
eyes  as  she  looked  about  her.  My  brother  was  scrofu- 
lous, and  covered  with  painful  ulcers,  and  so  weak 
that  he  could  not  even  cry  aloud  and  only  whimpered 
when  he  was  hungry.  When  he  had  been  fed  he  slum- 
bered, breathing  with  a  strange  sound  like  the  soft 
mewing  of  a  kitten. 

Observing  him  attentively,  grandfather  said : 

"He  ought  to  have  plenty  of  good  food;  but  I  have 
not  got  enough  to  feed  you  all." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  367 

Mother,  sitting  on  the  bed  in  the  corner,  sighed,  and 
said  in  a  hoarse  voice: 

"He  does  not  want  much." 

"A  little  for  one  and  a  little  for  another  soon  mounts 
up." 

He  waved  his  hand  as  he  turned  to  me: 

"Nikolai  must  be  kept  out  in  the  sun — in  some 
sand." 

I  dragged  out  a  sack  of  clean  sand,  turned  it  out  in 
a  heap  in  a  place  where  the  sun  was  full  on  it,  and 
buried  my  brother  in  it  up  to  his  neck,  as  grandfather 
told  me.  The  little  boy  loved  sitting  in  the  sand; 
he  cooed  sweetly,  and  flashed  his  bright  eyes  upon  me 
— extraordinary  eyes  they  were,  without  whites,  just 
blue  pupils  surrounded  by  brilliant  rings. 

I  became  attached  to  my  little  brother  at  once.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  understood  all  my  thoughts  as  I 
lay  beside  him  on  the  sand  under  the  window,  whence 
the  sound  of  grandfather's  shrill  voice  proceeded: 

"If  he  dies — and  he  won't  have  much  difficulty 
about  it — you  will  have  a  chance  to  live." 

Mother  answered  by  a  long  fit  of  coughing. 

Getting  his  hands  free,  the  little  boy  held  them  out 
to  me,  shaking  his  small  white  head;  he  had  very  little 
hair,  and  what  there  was  was  almost  gray,  and  his  tiny 
face  had  an  old  and  wise  expression.  If  a  hen  or  a 


368  MY  CHILDHOOD 

cat  came  near  us  Kolai  would  gaze  at  it  for  a  long 
time,  then  he  would  look  at  me  and  smile  almost  sig- 
nificantly. That  smile  of  his  disturbed  me.  Was  it 
possible  that  he  felt  that  I  found  it  dull  being  with 
him,  and  was  longing  to  run  out  to  the  street  and  leave 
him  there? 

The  yard  was  small,  close,  and  dirty;  from  the 
gate  were  built  a  succession  of  sheds  and  cellars  ending 
at  the  washhouse.  All  the  roofs  were  made  of  pieces 
of  old  boats — logs,  boards,  and  damp  bits  of  wood 
which  had  been  secured  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
neighborhood  when  the  ice  was  breaking  on  the  Oka, 
or  at  flood-time — and  the  whole  yard  was  an  unsightly 
conglomeration  of  heaps  of  wood  of  all  sorts,  which, 
being  saturated  with  water,  sweated  in  the  sun  and 
emitted  an  intensified  odor  of  rottenness. 

Next  door  there  was  a  slaughter-house  for  the 
smaller  kind  of  cattle,  and  almost  every  morning  could 
be  heard  the  bellowing  of  calves  and  the  bleating  of 
sheep,  and  the  smell  of  blood  became  so  strong  some- 
times that  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  hovered  in  the  air 
in  the  shape  of  a  transparent,  purple  net. 

When  the  animals  bellowed  as  the  butt-end  of  the 
ax  struck  them  between  the  horns,  Kolai  would  blink 
and  blow  out  his  lips,  as  if  he  wanted  to  imitate  the 
sound;  but  all  he  could  do  was  to  breathe: 

"Phoo  .      ." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  369 

At  midday  grandfather,  putting  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  would  call: 

"Dinner!" 

He  used  to  feed  the  child  himself,  holding  him  on 
his  knees,  pressing  potatoes  and  bread  into  Kolai's 
mouth,  and  smearing  them  all  over  his  thin  lips  and 
pointed  chin.  When  he  had  given  him  a  little  food 
grandfather  would  lift  up  the  little  boy's  shirt,  poke 
his  swollen  stomach  with  his  fingers,  and  debate  with 
himself  aloud : 

"Will  that  do*?     Or  must  I  give  him  some  more*?" 

Then  my  mother's  voice  would  be  heard,  proceeding 
from  her  dark  corner : 

"Look  at  him!     He  is  reaching  for  the  bread." 

"Stupid  child!  How  can  he  possibly  know  how 
much  he  ought  to  eat?"  And  again  he  gave  Kolai 
something  to  chew. 

I  used  to  feel  ashamed  when  I  looked  on  at  this  feed- 
ing business;  a  lump  seemed  to  rise  in  my  throat  and 
make  me  feel  sick. 

"That  will  do,"  grandfather  would  say,  at  length. 
"Take  him  to  his  mother." 

I  took  Kolai;  he  wailed  and  stretched  his  hands  out 
to  the  table.  Mother,  raising  herself  with  difficulty, 
came  to  meet  me,  holding  out  her  hideously  dry,  flesh- 
less  arms,  so  long  and  thin — just  like  branches  broken 
off  a  Christmas-tree. 


370  MY  CHILDHOOD 

She  had  become  almost  dumb,  hardly  ever  utter- 
ing a  word  in  that  passionate  voice  of  hers,  but  lying 
in  silence  all  day  long  in  her  corner — slowly  dying. 
That  she  was  dying  I  felt,  I  knew — yes.  And  grand- 
father spoke  too  often,  in  his  tedious  way,  of  death, 
especially  in  the  evening,  when  it  grew  dark  in  the 
yard,  and  a  smell  of  rottenness,  warm  and  woolly,  like 
a  sheep's  fleece,  crept  in  at  the  window. 

Grandfather's  bed  stood  in  the  front  corner,  al- 
most under  the  image,  and  he  used  to  lie  there  with 
his  head  towards  it  and  the  window,  and  mutter  for  a 
long  time  in  the  darkness: 

"Well — the  time  has  come  for  us  to  die.  How 
shall  we  stand  before  our  God?  What  shall  we  say 
to  Him?  All  our  life  we  have  been  struggling. 
What  have  we  done"?  And  with  what  object  have  we 
done  it?' 

I  slept  on  the  floor  between  the  stove  and  the  win- 
dow ;  I  had  not  enough  room,  so  I  had  to  put  my  feet 
in  the  oven,  and  the  cockroaches  used  to  tickle  them. 
This  corner  afforded  me  not  a  little  malicious  enjoy- 
ment, for  grandfather  was  continually  breaking  the 
window  with  the  end  of  the  oven-rake,  or  the  poker, 
during  his  cooking  operations ;  and  it  was  very  comical 
to  see,  and  very  strange,  I  thought,  that  any  one  so 
clever  as  grandfather  should  not  think  of  cutting  down 
the  rake. 


MY  CHILDHOOD  371 

One  day  when  there  was  something  boiling  in  a 
pot  on  the  fire  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and  he  used  the 
rake  so  carelessly  that  he  broke  the  window-frame, 
two  panes  of  glass,  and  upset  the  saucepan  on  the 
hearth  and  broke  it.  The  old  man  was  in  such  a  rage 
that  he  sat  on  the  floor  and  cried. 

"OLord!     OLord!" 

That  day,  when  he  had  gone  out,  I  took  a  bread 
knife  and  cut  the  oven-rake  down  to  a  quarter  or  a 
third  of  its  size;  but  when  grandfather  saw  what  I 
had  done,  he  scolded  me: 

"Cursed  devil!  It  ought  to  have  been  sawn 
through  with  a  saw.  We  might  have  made  rolling- 
pins  out  of  the  end,  and  sold  them,  you  devil's 
spawn !" 

Throwing  his  arms  about  wildly,  he  ran  out  of  the 
door,  and  mother  said : 

"You  ought  not  to  have  meddled  .  .  ." 

She  died  one  Sunday  in  August  about  midday.  My 
stepfather  had  only  just  returned  from  his  travels, 
and  had  obtained  a  post  somewhere.  Grandmother 
had  taken  Kolai  to  him — to  a  newly  done-up  flat  near 
the  station,  and  mother  was  to  be  carried  there  in  a 
few  days. 

In  the  morning  of  the  day  of  her  death  she  said  to 
me  in  a  low  but  a  lighter  and  clearer  voice  than  I  had 
heard  from  her  lately : 


372  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Go  to  Eugen  Vassilev,  and  ask  him  to  come  to 
me." 

Lifting  herself  up  in  bed  by  pressing  her  hands 
against  the  wall,  she  added: 

"Run— quickly!" 

I  thought  she  was  smiling,  and  that  there  was  a 
new  light  in  her  eyes. 

My  stepfather  was  at  Mass,  and  grandmother  sent 
me  to  get  some  snuff  for  her;  there  was  no  prepared 
snuff  at  hand,  so  I  had  to  wait  while  the  shopkeeper 
got  it,  then  I  took  it  back  to  grandmother. 

When  I  returned  to  grandfather's,  mother  was  sit- 
ting at  the  table  dressed  in  a  clean,  lilac-colored  frock, 
with  her  hair  prettily  dressed,  and  looking  as  splendid 
as  she  used  to  look. 

"You  are  feeling  better?"  I  asked,  with  a  feeling 
of  inexplicable  fear. 

Looking  at  me  fixedly,  she  said: 

"Come  here!     Where  have  you  been?     Eh?" 

Before  I  had  time  to  reply,  she  seized  me  by  the 
hair,  and  grasping  in  her  other  hand  a  long,  flexible 
knife,  made  out  of  a  saw,  she  flourished  it  several  times 
and  struck  me  with  the  flat  of  it.  It  slipped  from 
her  hands  to  the  floor. 

"Pick  it  up  and  give  it  to  me.  .  .  ." 

I  picked  up  the  knife  and  threw  it  on  the  table,  and 
mother  pushed  me  away  from  her.  I  sat  on  the  ledge 


MY  CHILDHOOD  373 

of  the  stove  and  watched  her  movements  in  a  state 
of  terror. 

Rising  from  the  chair  she  slowly  made  her  way  to- 
wards her  own  corner,  lay  down  on  the  bed,  and  wiped 
her  perspiring  face  with  a  handkerchief.  Her  hands 
moved  uncertainly;  twice  she  missed  her  face  and 
touched  the  pillow  instead. 

"Give  me  some  water.  ..." 

I  scooped  some  water  out  of  a  pail  with  a  cup,  and 
lifting  her  head  with  difficulty,  she  drank  a  little. 
Then  she  pushed  my  hand  away  with  her  cold  hand, 
and  drew  a  deep  breath.  Then  after  looking  at  the 
corner  where  the  icon  was,  she  turned  her  eyes  on  me, 
moved  her  lips  as  if  she  were  smiling,  and  slowly  let 
her  long  lashes  droop  over  her  eyes.  Her  elbows  were 
pressed  closely  against  her  sides,  and  her  hands,  on 
which  the  fingers  were  weakly  twitching,  crept  about 
her  chest,  moving  towards  her  throat.  A  shadow  fell 
upon  her  face,  invading  every  part  of  it,  staining  the 
skin  yellow,  sharpening  the  nose.  Her  mouth  was 
open  as  if  she  were  amazed  at  something,  but  her 
breathing  was  not  audible.  I  stood,  for  how  long  I 
do  not  know,  by  my  mother's  bedside,  with  the  cup  in 
my  hand,  watching  her  face  grow  frozen  and  gray. 

When  grandfather  came  in  I  said  to  him: 

"Mother  is  dead." 

He  glanced  at  the  bed. 


374  MY  CHILDHOOD 

"Why  are  you  telling  lies'?" 

He  went  to  the  stove  and  took  out  the  pie,  rattling 
the  dampers  deafeningly. 

I  looked  at  him,  knowing  that  mother  was  dead,  and 
waiting  for  him  to  find  it  out. 

My  stepfather  came  in  dressed  in  a  sailor's  pea- 
jacket,  with  a  white  cap.  He  noiselessly  picked  up  a 
chair  and  took  it  over  to  mother's  bed,  when  suddenly 
he  let  it  fall  with  a  crash  to  the  floor  and  cried  in  a 
loud  voice,  like  a  trumpet : 

"Yes— she  is  dead !     Look !" 

Grandfather,  with  wide-open  eyes,  softly  moved 
away  from  the  stove  with  the  damper  in  his  hand, 
stumbling  like  a  blind  man. 

A  few  days  after  my  mother's  funeral,  grandfather 
said  to  me : 

"Now,  Lexei — you  must  not  hang  round  my  neck. 
There  is  no  room  for  you  here.  You  will  have  to  go 
out  into  the  world." 

And  so  I  went  out  into  the  world. 


THE    END 


42911 


A     000  716924     " 


